


Falling Apart

by aramelly



Series: Second Chances [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ABSOLUTE FUCKING FILTH WHAT HAVE I DONE, Abuse of italics, Additional Tags To Be Added As Story Progresses, Alcohol Addiction, Anal Sex, BDSM, Barebacking, Bisexual Bill Cipher, Bisexual Dipper Pines, Blood, Bondage, Bottom Dipper, Bratty Sub Bill, Breakups, Car Accidents, Casual Sex, Character Death, Cheating, Coming Inside, Coming Out, Coming Untouched, Complete, Denial, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Dom Dipper, Domination, Drama Drama Drama, Edging, Eye Injuries, F/M, Fingering, Fist Fights, Funeral scenes, Gore, Graphic injuries, Hospitals, Hot Chocolate, Human bill, Kissing, Leather, M/M, Making Out, Master/Slave dynamics, Men wearing makeup, Mentions Of Soulmates, Mentions of Cancer, Missionary Position, Multiple Orgasms, Physical Trauma, Porn With Plot, Prostate Massagers, Prostate Milking, Public Blowjobs, Public Torture, Restraints, Riding Crops, Rimming, Secrets, Sequel, Sex Addiction, Sex Toys, Smoking, Some Fluff, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Tattooed Dipper, Teasing, Telepathic Conversations, This one turned out a lot darker than I thought it would, Top Bill, Top Dipper, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism, Work In Progress, abuse of punctuation, amphibian magic, axolotl, bareback, bottom bill, broken relationship, college party, did I mention drama?, endings and beginnings, fluffy aftercare, funishments, heavy dominant/submissive overtones, homophobic parents, kinkiness, macaroni and cheese, mentions of alcohol use, mentions of domestic violence, mentions of drug use, mentions of rehab, mentions of soul bonds, mutual handjobs, slapping in a sexual manner, voyueristic elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-08-20 01:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20219488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aramelly/pseuds/aramelly
Summary: [Part 2 of 3][Set 3 Years after the events of Starting Over]All things considered, Dipper was a fairly bright 22-year-old that averaged A-minuses on exams; perhaps not as intelligent as Stanford Pines with his numerous doctorates, but smart enough to recognize a bad idea when he saw one.  There were times when he’d screwed up, but this particular mistake was costing him the remnants of his sanity.  It bled into his consciousness whenever he wasn’t attempting to busy himself with other things. Even sleep offered no reprieve.  He should’ve known better than to invite misery into his life in the first place.In short: Bill Cipher’s love was poison, corroding his mind and eating away at his soul.





	1. Photographs

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel to Starting Over! If you haven’t read the first fic, feel free to peruse this one if you’d like, although some parts that reference the previous story might be confusing.
> 
> Any and all grammatical errors are my own fault, so if you see one let me know.

The apartment was still as Dipper unlocked the door and stepped inside. He toed off his shoes and passed like a specter across the living room which currently doubled as his sleeping quarters, dropping his backpack next to the coffee table with a sigh. Another shitty day full of unrelenting stress and another evening drowning in classwork with a half hour dinner break before it was back to the books. Just before 1am, he’d fall onto the couch to catch a few hours of precious z’s before repeating the entire process over again. Needless to say, it was running him ragged and leaving his bachelor’s degree unfinished was a heavy temptation. Unfortunately, Dipper was already three-fourths of the way through the undergraduate program and $42,000 in debt. Dropping out of college wasn’t an option. 

A metallic clambering emanated from the corner where a large cage sat elevated off of the ground. Climbing up the bars was an emerald-hued Indian Ringneck, the latest addition to their family. Dipper regarded him kindly, despite the sense of defeat that weighed down his bones and crushed him from the inside out. It wasn’t the creature’s fault his life currently sucked. 

“Hi, Pickle,” he said, unlatching the door and watching as the bird escaped its confines and climbed to the top of the cage where a labyrinth of perches and toys awaited. The building’s lenient pet policy was one of the reasons Mabel had been so keen on this place, and Dipper’s desperate need for companionship drove him to adopting an overpriced ball of feathers with inquisitive dark eyes and a friendly disposition. The adorable little bird had already wormed its way into his heart over the past few weeks and rooted himself there permanently. 

“Cute Pickle.” The parrot seemed to agree with Dipper’s sentiments, a high-pitched voice squeaking past his deep-crimson beak. He emulated kissy noises, which Dipper mimicked back before settling down on the sofa. He unzipped his backpack and fished out a Tolstoy novel - required reading for this semester - and the double-sided worksheet that accompanied it. Kicking his socked feet up on the polished wood in front of him, he scanned over the open-ended questions distractedly, unable to process their meanings. He had more important things to worry about than late-19th century literature. 

The assignment remained untouched on his lap as he instead mentally tortured himself for the umpteenth time this week. All things considered, Dipper was a fairly bright 22-year-old that averaged A-minuses on exams; perhaps not as intelligent as Stanford Pines with his numerous doctorates, but smart enough to recognize a bad idea when he saw one. There were times when he’d screwed up, but this particular mistake was costing him the remnants of his sanity. It bled into his consciousness whenever he wasn’t attempting to busy himself with other things. Even sleep offered no reprieve. He should’ve known better than to invite misery into his life in the first place. 

In short: Bill Cipher’s love was poison, corroding his mind and eating away at his soul. 

The dissonance that leached into every aspect of their splintering relationship left him rethinking the past three years they’d spent together. It was difficult for Dipper to accept the growing divide working its way between them, but even harder to maintain an air of indifference whenever he thought about the self-destructive path Bill was paving for himself. Alcohol, women, illicit drugs... Dipper wasn’t sure which of those was worse, but he stubbornly willed himself not to care. If the blonde chose to numb himself with one (or all) of those things at the wild parties he frequently attended, then so be it. He wasn’t Bill’s babysitter or guardian, just his boyfriend, and even that title was questionable now. They hadn’t officially broken up - not yet - but Dipper decided that segregating himself from Bill was the best course of action until he was able to sort through unwanted emotions and the pain they brought him. 

As a result, he found himself spending more and more time at Mabel’s apartment, seven blocks north of the place he’d leased a few weeks ago at the start of his junior year of college. In retrospect, trading in the luxury of his parents’ upper-middle class home for an outdated two-bedroom flat in the heart of Oakland was another of his oversights. Even with Dipper and Bill’s combined incomes, it was often difficult to ensure that the rent was paid on time and the fridge was kept fully stocked, with just enough money left over for monthly tuition payments. Whether out of pity or apathy, he allowed Bill to remain living in the off-campus unit they once shared, still contributing his half of the rent even though he was crashing at Mabel’s for the foreseeable future. Backing out of the lease meant forfeiting the thousand-dollar deposit he’d put down and that was simply out of the question. It was hard enough procuring that little gem located twenty minutes from the UC Berkeley campus, so at least one of them would get some use out of it.

Dipper peeled himself from the turquoise couch and meandered into the kitchen to start tonight’s dinner, a basic spaghetti dish. Pickle jabbered nonsensically in the other room and played with his toys while Dipper sorted through the pantry._ “Watcha doin’? Gimme kiss! A chicken nugget birdo,” _ \- the last phrase was undoubtedly his sister’s handiwork. Speaking of Mabel, she would be returning from class within the hour and Dipper wanted to make sure the pasta was at least halfway done by then. With bitter regret, he lamented the items left behind at the Cipher-Pines residence. The idea to sneak over there one night popped into his head, but he wasn’t about to infiltrate his _ own _apartment and risk running into Bill over a colander and some misplaced socks. 

In truth, going tête-à-tête with his estranged lover could end any number of ways, the least desirable scenario being the two of them falling into bed and aggressively fucking their problems away. It may have been something Dipper was suckered into before, but this time history wasn’t going to repeat itself. 

Bill Cipher would _ not _best him. 

Waiting for the water to come to a boil, Dipper stared at the glass-tiled backsplash and tuned out as he grimly considered all of the things he and Bill had been through. The past few years spent living in close proximity meant they’d learned an absurd amount of things about each other, every preference and nuance and strange little quirk. He knew Bill took his tea with honey, that raw tomatoes grossed him out, how he preferred red wine over white, and about his penchant for playing piano in the early evening while Dipper stood at the sink hand-washing dishes caked with gunk. In turn, Dipper bared his soul to the man who, at one time, had tried to murder his family and take over the world. Bill knew all about how Dipper sprained his ankle playing soccer in gym class, the pet frog he owned when he was nine, and which toppings he preferred on his ice cream (they’d once had a falling out over crushed walnuts). There were all of the moments they’d shared, the innumerable dates and adventures they’d been on. Dipper could still picture the way Bill wobbled on his inline skates and the yoga class at a converted warehouse across the Bay Bridge in San Francisco. Both occasions ended with sweat-soaked shirts and pulled muscles, but it was obvious they’d had fun as they drove back to the apartment complex. 

And now Bill was making new memories with people who were clearly more important. 

The inevitable jealousy bit into his gut and threatened to overpower him the further his mind wandered. In true masochistic fashion, Dipper found himself scrolling through the hundreds of photos on his phone of himself and Bill and their life together. Despite not being on speaking terms, he couldn’t bring himself to delete the memories. 

Several selfies of the golden-eyed man grinning outside of the DMV caught his attention. Bill must’ve taken them when Dipper was otherwise preoccupied. The date the photos were taken was the day the state of California recognized him as a licensed driver. Initially, Bill Cipher plus one learner’s permit equaled a stressed out and panicky Dipper. He recalled several instances where the silver sedan was nearly wrapped around light poles, but with enough practice, and an increase in Dipper’s anxiety medication, Bill had finally mastered the fine art of driving. With the shake of his head, he flicked past those photos, overwhelmed by just how interwoven their lives had become. Disneyland, spending Christmas at Dipper’s childhood home, chilling on the beach... The countless images were all portraits of an earlier time, back before everything went to hell and he’d actually been happy. 

_ Fuck_. Perhaps it would be easier to just end it now and spare himself the trouble of clinging to a relationship that was half in the grave. He flicked over to his contacts list and selected Bill’s name, but before he could begin the call, the front door flew open forcefully. A frightened Pickle flapped around wildly as Mabel hurried inside. Dipper noted the time on the oven and realized she was home early tonight. Usually her class ran until six, and depending on the flow of traffic, sometimes she didn’t arrive back until quarter of seven. 

“Hey Mab— ”

Dipper stumbled backwards unexpectedly as Mabel threw herself into his arms. Thick tears ran down her face, absorbed by the dark blue fabric of his sweatshirt, her head buried into his chest as she shook with gasping breaths. Dipper hadn’t seen Mabel this upset since Waddles’ passing, so whatever had caused her to fall apart like this was definitely not good. He stroked his hand across her back, smoothing down the dark curls beneath his fingertips, the gentle touch a feeble attempt to comfort the girl that was falling apart right in front of him. 

“Dipper.” Mabel’s voice was crackly and broken after crying the whole way back from campus. “I just talked to mom and dad. Grunkle Stan called them this morning.”

“Is everything okay?” 

“No,” she bit back a sob, a brand new set of tears burning the corners of her chocolate-brown eyes.

“Mabel, what is it?” It took a long time for her to respond, but the words she eventually managed to choke out left Dipper feeling like the floor had collapsed beneath him and his body was floating in some far-off plane outside the limitations of reality. 

* * *

Bill entered the coffee shop’s break room, untying the black apron that was a mandatory requirement for all employees. Another busy day full of caffeine junkies and another evening getting smashed with people he barely knew. Long after 1am, he’d fall into bed, ignoring the empty room down the hall that was once occupied by someone he’d rather forget, and sleep off his hangover before heading into work and repeating the entire process over again. Some would scoff at the idea of a full-time barista position, but the money was decent and the tips were even better, especially when they came with a cute girl’s number attached. Bill knew _ exactly _how to use his devilish charm to his advantage, and it quite literally paid off. In addition to the modest wage he earned, the ex-dream demon was doing well for himself and enjoying life to the fullest. 

...For the most part. 

He hadn’t seen _ him _in three - or was it four? - months, but he didn’t care. If there was one thing Bill Cipher excelled in, it was pretending to not give a shit about the things that tore him apart inside. Blacking out was a much better alternative than lying awake at night, contemplating the wreckage of a failed relationship in an empty apartment. He didn’t miss Dipper. Not one bit. 

Bill snagged his phone from the back pocket of the dark-wash skinny jeans pulled taut across his ass, waiting until exactly 6:30 to clock out. As decent as the job was, he wouldn’t give the company a minute more of his time - not when he had places to go and people to do. Without question, the biggest perk of living in a west-coast college town was the surplus of horny, boozed-up sorority girls willing to have no-strings sex with him. ‘Hit it and quit it’ was Bill’s motto of late, and he definitely had no plans of stopping. 

“Night Bill,” Nathalie waved from her glorified closet of an office, briefly glancing up from the monthly profits and losses statement to see him off. As a small business manager, she was humble, the kind of person who used honey instead of vinegar and hesitated to dole out harsh punishments unless absolutely necessary. She refused to put herself on a pedestal, favoring a level playing field between herself and her employees, and it appeared to be effective; staff retention rates were above average and the shop’s numbers were mostly in the green. Nathalie’s kindness had also worked well to Bill’s advantage during his first interview, when he’d charmed the figurative pants off of her and been hired on the spot. They talked often and perhaps even bordered on flirtation once or twice, but sleeping with his boss was an idea even _ he _was reluctant to entertain. 

“See you bright and early.”

“Looking forward to it.” Bill pushed open the back exit leading to an employee-only parking lot that was situated off a narrow side street. With haughty confidence, he sauntered over to a brand new black Corvette - his absolute pride and joy - and unlocked the door. Sure, the payments were a bit out of his league - what with having to shell out half of the monthly rent for Dipper’s apartment and buying food other than burgers from Shake Shack every week - but the marvelous fusion of metal and glass was just another distraction from the current state of his pitiful human heart. 

Slipping behind the wheel, Bill lingered for a moment, lighting a cigarette and checking for updates on his social media accounts. Mind on autopilot, he searched for Dipper’s Instagram page because... well, he wasn’t sure why. After all, he was over the guy, with his stupid brown eyes and constellation birthmark and flannel shirts carrying the scent of bergamot and musk. 

Just as he expected: no new posts. There hadn’t been for weeks, yet Bill found himself checking and rechecking just in case. His own face mocked him in the ocean of old photos Dipper hadn’t gotten around to deleting yet. Maybe he’d abandoned this account and set up a new one to keep his pictures away from Bill’s prying eyes. Maybe there was a new girl - or guy - in Pine Tree’s life who didn’t want reminders of his ex plastered all over the internet.

Not that Bill cared, because he _ didn’t_. 

He closed out the app and went to crank the ignition when a quiet ping alerted him to a new text message. Probably someone wanting to know if he had any contacts who could hook them up with cheap weed. Being so charismatic meant he’d become ‘that guy’, the one with connections to a few local drug dealers pushing solid product. Prescription meds, the purest cocaine... anything they desired, Bill knew how to get it. 

Only it wasn’t someone in search of their next high, but rather a name he never expected. 

**Shooting Star (6:03pm) - ** _ We haven’t talked in a while but I had to tell you _

An ellipsis danced across the screen as she typed, one final message coming through:

_ Grunkle Ford is dead. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	2. Life in Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapters won’t be posted as quickly as this one, but I couldn’t help myself. Gravity Falls is always so much fun to write for. 
> 
> **WARNING: THIS CHAPTER MENTIONS SUICIDAL IDEATION AND SUICIDE ATTEMPTS. If this is something that bothers you, I’ve highlighted the area with bolded ⍙⍙⍙'s so you can skip that part. It’s very short and won’t detract from the story if you choose not to read it.**
> 
> _“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.” — Mary Shelley_

October was colder in the Pacific Northwest, something Dipper failed to take into account while packing for the long trip ahead of them. Ever since Mabel broke the news, his already worn-out brain became increasingly unhelpful. Mundane tasks that would typically require little thought suddenly doubled in complexity. Twice last weekend he’d forgotten to change Pickle’s food and water, and left the front door unlocked after going to bed. Thankfully, Mabel was around to account for such errors, but it wasn’t until Dipper was working on a statistics assignment and couldn’t remember the product of four times eight that he finally realized just how burned out he was. 

Given the unfortunate circumstances, they’d be spending the week in Gravity Falls while his late uncle’s affairs were sorted and the funeral preparations were finalized. And, as if life didn’t poke enough fun at Dipper’s expense, Bill insisted on driving up with them to say his goodbyes. Dipper almost snorted out loud - _ like Bill actually cared _\- he’d been the sole reason the entire Pines family was almost eradicated eight years ago. As for Mabel... well, he wasn’t angry at her per se, just upset that she’d gone behind his back to contact Bill without his permission.

Throughout the entire trip, Dipper refused to acknowledge him, staring out the window with his iPod at a deafening volume in a “fuck you” gesture towards the blonde. It wasn’t like he could talk to Bill even if he wanted to, not with his parents occupying the front seats. To them, Bill was simply Dipper’s roommate - a friend he shared an apartment with - and nothing more. Keeping up that illusion was why Dipper insisted on a two-bedroom unit; if Mr. and Mrs. Pines ever visited their place, it’d look awfully suspicious for two men to be sharing one bed, even if that used to be the case. They had no inkling of the true relationship between their son and his “friend”, but at this point it didn’t matter anyway - Bill and Dipper’s love was sinking so fast that it made the Titanic look like child’s play. 

What felt like an eternity passed by the time Mr. Pines pulled up to the Mystery Shack, the overcast afternoon painting the A-frame cabin in a bleak half-light that somehow made it look sharp and menacing. The minivan shifted into park and its five passengers hobbled out, cracking stiff bones into place and stretching sore muscles. Dipper’s dad requested his help in retrieving luggage from the back, which was fine since it meant he wouldn’t have to stand around awkwardly next to Bill. At the sound of car doors, Grunkle Stan emerged from the old building dressed in his suit and fez, propping himself up with the eight-ball cane that was sometimes part of his ‘Man of Mystery’ get-up. 

A sign on the front door behind him stated that the tourist trap would be shut down for the next seven days, which came as a surprise since the Mystery Shack was _ always _open, given its owner’s capitalistic endeavors. But even Stan knew when to draw the line, and scamming clueless tourists in this time of mourning felt incredibly disrespectful. 

The twins were the first to meet him with prolonged hugs and expressions of sorrow. It was strange seeing one uncle instead of two, like peanut butter without jelly, a ship without a sail, or any other cliché combination either sibling could come up with. Dipper took in the sight of Stan as he greeted Mabel, noting the tell-tale signs of exhaustion that he himself often experienced after pulling an all night study session. Heavy bags weighed down the pair of mirthless eyes, crow’s feet and loose skin more pronounced than ever. It was also obvious Stan hadn’t shaved in a few days, coarse gray hairs prickling Mabel’s chin as she kissed his cheek. 

“Hi Pumpkin.” He sighed the pet name into her unruly brown hair, relieved to see his niece and nephew so shortly after this loss. Stan looked like he’d aged ten years since last March when they’d visited for Spring Break, undoubtedly hastened by the grief of losing Ford for the second time in his life. At least back then, there was a chance he’d make it home someday, even if it was fleeting with each year the portal remained inactive. Ford’s passing highlighted the harsh reality of death’s permanence and put everything into perspective.

“Andrew, Susanna… it’s been a while.” Years, in fact, since Stan had seen the couple. Maintaining full-time jobs meant they were often too preoccupied to take a day off, much less travel out of state to visit distant relatives. 

“Uncle Stan,” Mrs. Pines stepped forward at the mention of her name, a kindness in her voice that was reserved for moments such as these, and took his hand in her own, squeezing it softly. “I’m so sorry about Stanford. How did he...?” 

“Doctor said it was Stage IV pancreatic cancer,” Stan mumbled, visibly wincing as though saying it out loud would result in physical harm. “Spread to his liver and bones. Wasn’t much they could’ve done at that point.”

Mabel and Dipper gaped at that - death fighting off some interdimensional creature, sure, but _ cancer? _ It was so... unexpected. Especially given the great lengths Ford went to to ensure that he stayed in tip-top shape. 

While the family questioned Grunkle Stan, Bill stood off to the side checking his text messages. As soon as his cell service returned, a notification from Nathalie appeared. She was asking him if he’d arrived safely and added a friendly reminder that his next shift was on Friday at 10. Another coworker would cover for him until then, but he’d have to leave for California right after the funeral on Thursday, while the Pines family didn’t return home until Sunday morning. Bill was determined to talk to Pine Tree before then, to try to figure out where they stood, and if he’d be returning to California a single man or not. But getting Dipper alone would be a monumental task in itself, especially since he wouldn’t even acknowledge Bill’s existence.

“Bring your stuff inside and get settled,” Stan encouraged, nodding at the suitcases and zippered bags near the family’s feet, motioning for them to enter the weatherbeaten building. 

While their parents and Stan were engaged in conversation, Mabel and Dipper traversed the familiar path to the attic, leaving Bill behind without a second thought. As the door creaked open, rust-coated hinges in need of oil, a familiar feeling of comfort blanketed the siblings. Most would’ve complained about staying in the small room with worn-out mattresses and moldy rafters, but for Dipper and Mabel, it was an unchanging constant; a reminder that even when the world around them was going up in smoke, this sanctuary remained, imperfect in many ways, but a safe place nonetheless. 

Unpacking their clothes and settling into their respective beds was reminiscent of the childhood summers they’d spent here, six years of carefree afternoons chasing mysteries and growing up alongside the people they loved. But things had changed. The cynicism of adulthood dampened sweet nostalgia and tainted fond memories that were once treasured. It was clear upon looking at each other that they’d come to the same realization: that era of their lives was over, and those days could only be relived in the furthest reaches of their minds. 

* * *

In the middle of the night, Dipper woke up gasping, an unrelenting tightness in his chest restricting the amount of air circulating throughout his lungs. He sat upright, face drained of color, momentarily disoriented by his surroundings. The silhouette of Mabel’s still form was visible from across the room, and for a few moments he watched her torso rise and fall with each gentle breath. She looked too peaceful to wake, so Dipper tried his best to remain silent as he suffered through the familiar symptoms. The increase in late night panic attacks was directly correlated to the barrage of stress pummeling him from all directions. Normally when an episode occurred, Bill would be there to comfort him through the heart palpitations and racing thoughts, sturdy arms encompassing him as he breathed soft reassurance against his ear. But now, in the pitch darkness of the Mystery Shack, he was alone, left to fight through the attack by himself, no one to hold him tight until he drifted back to sleep.

Once the worst of it subsided, Dipper slipped out of bed and wandered downstairs. In the kitchen, he found an open box of Cheerios and poured himself a bowl, the tiny rings plinking harshly against glazed ceramic. Moving to the fridge, he noticed Stan was running low on groceries, metal shelves mostly bare aside from six bottles of beer, a shriveled-up corn cob, and a quart of 2% milk. Fortunately, there was just enough left in the nearly-expired carton for Dipper to make use of. 

Satisfied, he shoveled a spoonful of the toasted oats into his mouth, closing his eyes and chewing slowly. When he looked up again, the sight of Mabel made him jump - he hadn’t been expecting her to just suddenly appear in the doorway like that. She must’ve sensed something was off and woke to find the bed opposite of hers devoid of one snoring brother. 

“You okay, Dipper?” she asked softly, moving slowly into the room. The knitted socks on her feet protected her skin against the cold hardwood floor with each approaching step. 

“Just another panic attack. Been getting them a lot lately.” He didn’t need to explain further - as his big sister, Mabel already knew the ins and outs of his troubled brain. “Nothing like a bowl of half-stale cereal at 3am while your life is falling apart,” he chuckled. The weak attempt at humor earned him a pitying smile from Mabel as she pulled out the chair to his left and plunked down in it. 

She watched him eat in silence for a while, fingertips tracing invisible patterns into the IKEA table Stan was adamant about purchasing after… the incident. It was almost funny now, despite the horror and confusion they’d experienced, but Mabel didn’t laugh, just smiled to herself and continued to move her fingers aimlessly across the surface. Eventually the corners of her mouth fell, a more serious tone overtaking her. “Sorry I didn’t ask you first about telling Bill.” She looked squarely at Dipper, gauging his reaction to her candid apology. 

“It’s whatever.” He tried to play it off, raising his shoulders in a half shrug, but in reality it felt like he was a mouse trapped in a python’s cage, waiting for the inevitable strike. 

“Are you gonna break up with him?”

_ She is _ not  _ letting this go, is she? _ Dipper pushed and poked at the mushy cereal with his spoon. It broke apart as it floated across the milk’s surface. “I... I dunno. We haven’t spoken in months, and he’s… I don’t even know anymore.”

A comforting hand touched his forearm where it rested flat on the table, Mabel’s gentle way of offering sisterly support. “You know, Dipdop, talking is the best way to resolve conflicts. You should tell Bill how you feel instead of ignoring him.” It was a good idea in theory, but not in practice. Opening up to Bill meant admitting that he still had feelings for him, and in his current state of full-blown denial, such vulnerability was not ideal. 

A creak on the stairs alerted the twins to another sleepless presence. The heavy footfalls were uncharacteristic of their parents or Bill, which only left one option. Grunkle Stan plodded into the kitchen in his undershirt and boxers, scratching a phantom itch along his arm as he regarded Dipper and Mabel. “You kids couldn’t sleep either, huh?” The bad dreams kept him up, nightmares in the same vein as the ones he’d experienced years ago, after so stupidly launching Ford into the portal - a slip-up that still haunted him to this day. As many times as Stan apologized over the years, it was never enough to erase his guilt. 

**⍙⍙⍙ ** All of his careless actions negatively impacted Ford’s life, and in truth, if anyone deserved to die, it was Stanley Pines, grade-A fuck-up and lifelong disappointment. At least if he’d been the one to die, he would no longer be a burden to everyone around him. The idea to end it all crossed his mind more often than it should have; the guns that he kept locked away offering dark comfort and the promise of penance for his sins. He’d already attempted suicide twice since Ford was pronounced dead, but every time the barrel was snug against his temple, finger quaking on the trigger, a sudden wave of apprehension caused him to falter and ultimately chicken out. Stanley Pines, a piece of shit who couldn’t even do the world a favor. **⍙⍙⍙**

The elder pressed the bottoms of his palms into his eyes and rubbed until the dark field of vision was dotted with white static. This whole thing was a mess, and there was still a distressing amount of decisions he needed to make: flowers, casket selection, grave markers, obituary info, the after-service dinner and where to hold it...

“Tomorrow I have’ta go to to a meeting with the funeral director. Feel free to come along if ya want, but if not, I’d appreciate it if you could go through Ford’s stuff... can’t bring myself to do it just yet.” He hadn’t stepped foot in the basement since his brother’s death and the door to his bedroom remained shut. 

He didn’t need additional reminders of all the ways he’d failed Ford. 

In a quieter tone of voice he asked, eager to change the subject, “Is somethin’ up with you and Bill?” Of course Stan had noticed the strain between them. It was more surprising that his parents hadn’t spoken up about it. 

“It’s... complicated,” the brunette sighed, quickly growing tired of having to explain the situation. “Bill isn’t himself anymore. But, neither am I, I guess.”

“I hate to say I told you so Dipper, but gettin’ involved with someone like that? Never ends well.”

He didn’t want to admit that Grunkle Stan was right, but it was often difficult to accept such uncomfortable truths. Loathe to think about it anymore, Dipper stood and drained his bowl in the sink, rinsing away the untouched remnants while Mabel turned her attention to Grunkle Stan. 

“Hey, maybe you should get a dog. Ooooh, how about a beagle?!” 

“Who, me? Nah, I don’t need some whiny mutt to keep me company. Been livin’ up here by myself for the better part of thirty years - I’ll be fine.” What he failed to mention was that back then, he at least had some kind of purpose in life - searching for a way to reactivate the portal and redeem himself in Ford’s eyes. Now he was no more than a lonely old man running a tacky roadside attraction in the woods, wasting away whatever years he had left. “You two should try to get some sleep,” Stan suggested, fully aware of how hypocritical it sounded as soon as the words left his mouth.

Dipper nodded his agreement and disappeared back upstairs, but Mabel lingered for a moment, staring at the despairing geriatric long enough to make him uncomfortable and slightly creeped out. “What? Why are you looking at me that way?” he grunted, shifting back in his seat while he tried to determine if Mabel had just been possessed by a restless spirit or something else that would explain her weird behavior.

“Nothing… it’s just…” she fiddled for a minute, resembling a much younger version of herself in the seconds of hesitation that followed. “Dipper and I love you a lot, Grunkle Stan. Just don’t forget that, okay?” 

He softened considerably, as if the naïve twelve-year-old was looking back at him from within her adult form. Stan always had a weak spot for Mabel, like she was his own flesh and blood, not just Shermie’s granddaughter. He pulled her down into a hug, bear-like and reassuring. “I love you too, sweetie.” 

Perhaps there was still something to live for after all.

* * *

The following morning, Mr. and Mrs. Pines drove Stanley to a local funeral home for the arrangement conference. Dipper and Mabel elected to stay behind and sort through Ford’s belongings, as their uncle had requested the previous night, which meant they were now saddled with the laborious task of combing through near-endless paperwork. Mabel sat cross-legged on the basement floor, folders and loose-leaf sheets surrounding her in all directions. Dipper was reclined back, desk chair tipped at a precarious angle as he sorted through stacks of papers, trying to determine what was worth keeping and what needed to be trashed. The sheer amount of research was overwhelming, some documents dating back to the 1970’s when Ford was still attending Backupsmore University. After two hours, everything was starting to blur together and Dipper felt like he was going cross-eyed. 

He’d just tossed a paper aside, ready to pause for a well-deserved break, when the next item in the stack captured his full attention. It wasn’t another twelve-page essay about the validity of String Theory, but rather an unsealed envelope with ‘STANLEY’ scrawled across the front in red ink. “Hey Mabel, check this out.” She came to stand beside Dipper as he extracted the envelope’s contents, producing a handwritten letter that was dated only two weeks ago. “I don’t think Stan’s seen this yet.” 

“Should we show him?” But Mabel’s inquiry went unanswered, Dipper’s dark eyes already scanning over the words. 

“Shit, listen to this.” He began to read the series of handwritten pages aloud, stumbling once or twice over the sharp cursive lettering. “‘Dear Stanley, I’ve written you this note as a way of providing you with closure after my death. I’ve decided to keep my diagnosis a secret because I knew you would have pushed me to fight it; to undergo ineffectual treatments that would only strain my weakened body further. How much fight is left with a Stage IV diagnosis? Frankly, I am exhausted. I’ve spent decades fighting for my life, battling both literal and figurative monsters over the past three decades. I have no more strength to muster, and so I hope you can forgive me. The past years spent with you have meant more to me than you could ever imagine. I hope that you can find peace in all aspects of your life.’”

“He _ knew?”_

“Yeah,” Dipper replied grimly. “Ford knew he was dying and never said anything.” The remainder of the letter detailed the specifics of his last wishes and funeral arrangements. Apparently, he’d prematurely acquired a burial plot and stashed some money away for funeral expenses. “We have to get this to Grunkle Stan.”

“I’ll take it to him,” Mabel volunteered. “I have to pick up some stuff anyway. I want to make a memory board to display during the service.”

Dipper neatly tucked the letter away and handed it to Mabel, both siblings climbing the long flight of steps up to the first floor. She snatched Stan’s car keys from a hook near the front door and farewelled him with a wave, starting up the El Diablo and taking it into town. 

Mere moments after Mabel left, the realization that he was now alone in the house with Bill struck Dipper like white-hot lightning. Before, it would’ve been a blessing to have the place all to themselves, able to do whatever they wanted as loudly as they wanted, but now it was eerily quiet like a setting straight out of a horror movie. Dipper paced the floor, suddenly unnerved by each little creak and pop that carried from other parts of the Shack. In an attempt to quell the nervousness building in his gut, Dipper moved into the living room and plopped down in Stan’s ancient recliner, pulling out the first magazine he could find. It was the most recent edition of ‘Gold Chains for Old Men’ because _ of course _ it was, but it was certainly better than having to interact with Bill, so he immersed himself in pictures of overpriced accessories to pass the time. 

As luck would have it, he’d only reached page seven before a shadow crowded his periphery, its owner passing through the doorframe, inching closer with every step. Dipper pulled the magazine higher up in front of his face, staring at a ten karat medallion even as Bill planted his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning down into Dipper’s personal space. “Are you just going to keep ignoring me, sweetheart?” After several beats with no response, Bill yanked the magazine out of Dipper’s hands and tossed it across the room. Panic set in for the second time in twenty-four hours, pulse out of control as the persistent blonde was abruptly reaching out to touch him. 

A loud ringing interrupted the encounter and Dipper was forever indebted to the person that decided to drop by. “I’ll get it!” he shouted much too loudly given Bill’s proximity and pushed him out of the way as he raced over to the front door. Soos and Melody were waiting on the porch with a plate of homemade cookies and their two-year-old son in tow. The bright-eyed woman’s belly was distended beneath the gray sweater she wore, their second child due in Spring. 

“Hey Dipper, is Stan around?” Soos questioned, blissfully ignorant to the fact he’d just rescued him from whatever Bill had in store. “We brought him some snacks to try to cheer him up.” 

“No, he left with my parents to make some more arrangements for Thursday. But come in and stay a while. We can catch up,” Dipper said with a grin, the words spoken loudly enough for Bill to hear in the other room. He led them into the kitchen where they sat and chatted for a while, Dipper’s attention drawn away only briefly to glance down at the text Bill sent him. 

_ You can’t ignore me forever, Pine Tree. _

The urge to write back _'That’s what you think' _ was intense, but he instead disregarded the veiled threat, slipping his phone back into his pocket without comment and helped himself to one of the fresh baked cookies with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just spent five hours writing my butt off. Phew. Anyway, this chapter was a lot darker than I planned. Sorry not sorry! Feel free to come chat in the comments, I love talking to you guys :) Also I hope the names I chose for Mr. and Mrs. Pines are okay, since I couldn't find any canon info for that.


	3. The Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tho... I put my heart and soul into this one so I hope you’ll enjoy it :) I haven’t been to a funeral in 4-5 years so much of this was written from memory and with consultations from Google.

Mabel had come up with a plan - a devious, ingenious, underhanded plan. Such deception was once reserved for sneaking out to parties when she was underage, but lately she’d grown tired of acting as a buffer between the quarreling lovers. Since Dipper was too stubborn to actually confront Bill, she’d give him a shove and beg for forgiveness later.

As morning transitioned into early afternoon, the family was busy getting dressed and ensuring last-minute details were in order. It was during this time that Mabel put her plan into action. The same text asking for help reaching something on the top shelf of the supply closet was sent to both Bill and Dipper, the former arriving first and asking what she needed. Mabel pointed at a random box that was way too high even for Bill, which distracted him long enough until Dipper showed up and repeated the blonde’s earlier question. It wasn’t until he’d also stepped into the room and the door suddenly slammed shut behind him that he realized Mabel had set them up. 

Dipper yanked at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge no matter how forcefully he tugged; she’d already activated the locking mechanism from the outside. They were trapped against their will. “Mabel!” he screamed in agitation, banging both fists against the wooden panel, “let us out of here!”

“You guys need to talk things over,” she called from the other side of the door. Hopefully subjecting them to a dose of direct confrontation would stop the pair from giving each other the cold shoulder like immature little school girls. “I’ll be back in 15 minutes. Good luck!” 

“No, Mabel, wait!” But Dipper could hear her heels retreating down the hallway as she left him to suffer. “_Ugh_.” His forehead thwacked against the door, silently cursing Mabel up and down for interfering with his life. Now he had to deal with —

“Alone at last, Pine Tree.” 

Dipper rolled his eyes as Bill spoke, incensed by the mere presence of the man. _ Goddammit Mabel_. He tried the doorknob again but it was a fruitless effort that left him increasingly upset. “Just shut up. Geez, I almost forgot how much of an asshole you are.” 

Even in the darkness, he could feel Bill’s grin. “Thanks for the compliment, sweetie.” The blonde reached up, yanking the bulb’s pull chain and the cramped space was illuminated with a dim yellow glow.

“Did you put Mabel up to this?” Dipper folded his arms defensively, finally turning around to face Bill for the first time since they’d gone their separate ways. His tan skin and golden eyes were just as gorgeous as he remembered, and the tux he wore was fitted, accentuating all the right places... _ Stop that! _Dipper mentally chided himself for checking him out and looked around the closet for anything sharp in case he needed to stab Bill in the face… or himself - whichever would relieve him of this waking nightmare. 

“No, actually,” Bill smirked, leaning back against a shelf stocked with paper towels and glass cleaner. “Although I _ have _been meaning to talk to you.” He watched as Dipper searched his suit jacket for his cell phone, only to grimace when he realized Mabel must’ve plucked it off of him while he was distracted. He couldn’t even call their parents for help. 

“Talk to me about what?” Dipper asked dumbly. He knew what Bill had in mind, but choosing to feign obliviousness in the hopes that he’d run down the clock and escape as soon as Mabel returned seemed like the better option here. 

“About us... our relationship, or whatever the hell is left of it.” He took a step forward and Dipper stepped back, but there wasn’t much room to keep dancing around each other. This pissed Dipper off even more. If Mabel was going to plot against him like this, she should’ve at least given them a little more space. Or maybe she’d done this on purpose, hoping the tightness of the closet would force them into a compromising position. 

Either way, the air felt thin, whether from the surplus of carbon dioxide being expelled or the sight of Bill making it harder for Dipper to catch his breath. He tried the door a third and final time, which drew a genuine laugh from the man standing inches away from him. The euphonious sound carried throughout the room and echoed off the wooden walls, making Dipper shudder down to his core, not out of fear, but desire, which was becoming harder to suppress. 

“You don’t have to run, Pine Tree. I don’t bite… hard…” Another dark chuckle followed and Dipper was definitely gonna pop a boner if he kept teasing him like that. It was as if Bill derived some sort of aberrant satisfaction out of making him squirm. 

He needed to change the subject or this whole situation was going to escalate into a straight up fuck-fest, and as fun as that sounded, it wasn’t going to make things better between them. “You didn’t give a shit before, and now my great uncle dies and suddenly you want to try and patch things up?” The words ‘emotional manipulation’ came to mind, but went unspoken for now, until he could figure out what Bill’s actual motive was.

“I do give a shit - I always have. Obviously you’re the one who doesn’t care enough to make an effort to save our relationship.” 

Yeah, because sleeping with other people was _ totally _helping that cause. “Oh spare me, Bill. Why are you even here?”

“Just wanted to pay Fordsy my last respects.”

“You’re such a dick. The only reason you tagged along was to make me uncomfortable.”

Bill stepped forward, voice lowering to an octave that was oozing with sex (and definitely _ not _arousing Dipper in any way, shape, or form). “Is it working?” He licked his lips, coating them with a glistening sheen that made them look moist and tempting in the low light.

“_No_,” Dipper lied, reluctant to let Bill have the upper hand in the war that he was currently winning. He gathered his self-control and squared his shoulders, standing straight to appear taller and more intimidating than he actually was. “If you think you can seduce your way out of this, you’re wrong.” 

“Would it hurt to try?” A hand was now caressing Dipper’s cheek, smooth and sinful as it wandered lower to trace over the hard line of his jaw. “We’ve got enough time for a quickie.” In truth, it wouldn’t be the _ strangest _place they’d ever fucked...

Dipper gritted his teeth, staving off the dual desire to punch Bill’s smug ass and give in to the salacious invitation. But just how many women had he played this exact game with? Dipper’s anger ultimately won out, hands bearing down on Bill’s shoulders as he shoved him back against the rows of shelves. The forceful contact sent boxes of cleaning products clattering to the ground. “_This _ is why I can’t talk to you anymore. You’re a sex-crazed, alcoholic, womanizing _ douchebag _and somehow that’s worse than when you tore the town apart.” Dipper let up on Bill, backing away as much as he could, raking his hands through his hair in an outward display of frustration. So this was what his life came down to: arguing in a hall closet with the person he either wanted to kiss or kill - maybe both. Well, Mabel insisted they talk things out, so there was no point in holding back.

“Yeah? Well, you promised you wouldn’t push me away again and you did. You fucking _ lied_.”

“I didn’t lie to you! I’ve been trying to get my life together instead of acting like some frat boy reject! I told you before Freshman year started that school comes first. Or maybe your drugged-up ass killed too many brain cells since then.”

_ Harsh_. Those words would’ve gotten Dipper turned into a three-headed abomination if Bill still possessed his demonic powers. 

“I’m taking the maximum credit load this semester and trying to keep a part-time job,” Dipper huffed. “I don’t have time to deal with your irresponsible ass on top of everything else.”

Well... he _ had _been acting more like a reckless teenager than a responsible adult lately, so... no arguing that point. Dipper read Bill’s body language, the way his figure went slack and his expression softened was an indication that he was revealing his exceptionally rare, vulnerable side. 

After a lengthy pause the blonde asked, “What happened to us?”

With a shrug, Dipper replied in a softer register, “Life.” Weariness lined the word. The emotional divulgence took a load off his back, but also left him tired from the constant mental struggle of the previous weeks. “College, drugs, a bunch of other bullshit.” Things that tested a relationship to see if it would hold up, and theirs had cracked under the pressure. Silence filled the room. Within this period of contemplation, the two considered the actions that led them here; tried to figure out where everything went wrong. Both had dealt a lot of damage to their love and perhaps it was beyond repair. 

“If we’re really done here, if I’m nothing more than a warm body to you, just say it and we’ll go our separate ways.” There it was, the climax this whole separation had been building up to. 

“Dipper— ” 

“I can’t keep losing sleep over whatever this is.” He made a gesture between them to signify the current state of their relationship. “If it’s over, I’ll walk away. You can keep seeing other people and... I’ll find someone else too.” 

“I still— ” _ love you_. The door swung open to reveal their captor. The words Bill was about to say were cut short, left to die upon his tongue.

“Well? Is the old S.S. Billdip sailing again?” 

Dipper brushed past his sister once he was finally freed. “I don’t know,” he said in passing. No decision had been reached, but the hardest part was over with. Mabel’s technique, albeit rude, was effective - talking things over _ did _make him feel the slightest bit better. 

Bill spared her a quick glance before following Dipper down the hallway. Okay, so maybe this little experiment didn’t produce the exact results she hoped to achieve, but something was better than nothing. 

Score one for Doctor Mabel, Love Guru Extraordinaire. 

* * *

The minivan was bordering on clown car territory with the six of them stuffed into one vehicle. But they managed to make it work somehow, with Stan in the back-most row, the twins and Bill in the center, and their parents in the front two seats. Not long after hitting the road, a familiar nausea overcame Dipper, exacerbated by the distorted scenery zooming by. Ever since he was little, he’d gotten carsick on most of their family trips. Finding relief meant he either had to crack open the window or sit up front in the passenger’s seat, which his mom currently occupied. He knew well enough that she’d be annoyed if they had to stop just to switch places, so he chose to keep his mouth shut and pray that nothing came out of it... 

...literally. The churning sensation in his stomach further reminded him that he’d forgotten to eat before they left the Mystery Shack, all thanks to his sister’s little stunt.

With almost-telepathic accuracy, Mabel magically produced a granola bar from her purse and winked. As annoying as she could be sometimes, Dipper knew she meant well and was only doing what she felt was right in her heart. He accepted the peace offering and decided to forgive her. 

They arrived at the funeral home, a sturdy structure with elegant architecture that seemed out of place for a humble town like Gravity Falls. Bill elected to wait outside while the Pines family did their thing. The director met them in the foyer, welcoming them with a sympathetic smile and led them down the hallway. He paused in front of a large room closed off by French doors so they could have some personal time alone with their loved one before the services began. 

Entering the room, they saw the steel casket they’d chosen, gray-blue, was the focal point, opened to reveal Ford’s body resting against the silk interior. It was true what people said about the decedent looking like they were asleep. It wasn’t gruesome or violent, but peaceful. In the weirdest of ways, the employees here made death appear deceptively pleasant. 

Stan nearly broke down at the sight of his brother, but maintained a fragile composure. His eyes were already red and raw from crying in private and all of the stresses of the past few days. Despite this, he was dressed well and freshly shaved. And while a tux was the norm for Stan, this one was polished and didn’t carry the scent of stale beer and cigar smoke. 

They tucked some items alongside Ford’s still form as was customary for these occasions. Miscellaneous reminders of their life with him, and the gun he always carried. Mabel drew a picture yesterday night, something with a mishmash of colors and stickers. Even as a junior in college, she still loved to color, never heeding her peers who said it was for babies. “I hope you like it, Grunkle Ford,” she whispered, trying to keep things lighthearted even though it felt like she was dying inside too.

Dipper’s hand found its way to Mabel’s back, resting just above the top of her dress. Together they looked down at their late uncle, studying every tiny detail of the man who had been another father to them. Dipper always believed he’d follow in Ford’s footsteps, but here he was, enrolled in the college’s environmental studies program because his self-doubt was always so adamant about holding him back in life. Not that an undergraduate degree in a scientific discipline was anything to shake a stick at, but Dipper would never be on the same level as Ford, who knew all the ins and outs of advanced physics and could build complex inventions from scrap metal. 

He turned to take in the rest of the viewing room. A number of chairs were lined up in neat rows, more than were probably necessary. The soft music, elegant floral arrangements, and ambient lighting made it feel like Dipper was wandering through a dream. 

It was still hard to believe any of this was real. 

On a table to the left of the casket, a black tri-fold board with golden accents was displayed. Mabel’s flair for the artistic really showed and she regarded her work with pride. At the top, ‘In loving memory of Stanford Pines’ was written in her best handwriting above the arrangement of photographs. There was a 30-year gap in the pictures, the first side being of Stan and Ford’s childhood to mid-adult years, while the rest were more current snapshots of him. The center of the display was dedicated to family moments, the most prominent of which were selfies Mabel had taken with Ford, both silly and serious. Dipper remembered a few of them and even appeared in the foreground alongside his sister and uncle. 

Then there was the photo of their group hug the day he and Bill made up with the Grunkles. Knowing the story behind it made his cheeks flush as he was overcome with pure embarrassment. Dipper was surprised that Mabel included it, but taking a step back he realized other people wouldn’t understand the context; they wouldn’t know it was taken after a huge argument over him fucking Bill Cipher and resigning themselves to the seclusion of a cheap motel room. AKA, the simpler days. 

He had to step away from it all for a minute, breaking out into the cool autumn air. Looking around, Dipper found that Bill was pressed up against the brick façade, half-masked within a cloud of smoke. He showed no interest in mourning Stanford with the rest of them, seeing as the guy was once his greatest enemy and the entire reason he was now irrefutably human. It was easier to recall all of the negative encounters shared between them than the positive ones, even if Ford had supported the relationship Bill once had with his nephew.

Speak of the devil, the kid was approaching, which pulled him out of his brooding state as he carefully regarded Pine Tree. 

It was oddly instinctual, the way Dipper found himself gravitating towards the blonde. “Hi, Bill,” he said stiffly. The first words spoken since their involuntary confinement earlier. 

“Hey.” 

A silence followed, deafeningly awkward while Dipper tried to think of what to say next. “I’m surprised you’re not drunk or baked right now,” he jokingly scoffed, occupying an empty space next to Bill along the wall. 

“Who says I’m not?” He clearly wasn’t, too sensible and sober to be under the influence. Still, teasing Pine Tree was a fun way to pass the time. He smirked around the cigarette cradled between his middle and index fingers, pulling it from his lips as he exhaled. 

“Give me one of those.” As repulsed as he’d always been, the stress of the past few months made Dipper want to start smoking too. Bill’s eyes widened slightly as the brunette stole a cigarette from the carton and motioned for his lighter. The notion of lung cancer should’ve been enough to dissuade him, especially given Ford’s diagnosis, but making bad decisions seemed to be his forte lately. 

Growing up, Dipper was the dictionary definition of a ‘good kid’. Hence, he’d never gotten caught up in drugs, legal or otherwise. But watching Bill all those times, the process seemed easy enough. One prolonged drag and the addictive chemicals filled his lungs. Dipper coughed through the discomfort and exhaled smoke into the autumn afternoon. It was... weirdly pleasant, the way the whole thing put him at ease. He pulled in another lungful of nicotine and blew out again, flicking away ash that had accumulated on the tip. 

They stood side-by-side, smoking and watching as dark clouds swelled in the east and somehow things felt better than they had in months, maybe even since this time last year. 

Who knew being trapped in a closet with an almost-ex-boyfriend could be so strangely cathartic?

And then it came without warning: Bill’s fingers winding themselves around the lapel of Dipper’s tuxedo, his free hand tugging the boy forward until there wasn’t much space left between them. The set of golden eyes sliced through his defenses - broke down the walls he’d constructed as a means of protecting himself - and the brunette both hated and loved the man for it. The way Bill was looking at him made Dipper’s knees tremble; it was difficult to put up a fight when he felt like he was eighteen again and they were meeting for the first time. Bill’s lips were temptingly near, exchanging breaths while each silently dared the other to close the gap. Then Bill was leaning in, Dipper’s heart stuttering as he was met with the scent of cologne and cigarettes, eyes closing in anticipation. It was happening and he was going to let it.

Well-trained ears suddenly picked up on Mabel’s approaching voice before she’d actually emerged from the building, and with striking clarity, Dipper remembered what he was holding in his hands. He panicked a little, putting distance between himself and Bill and their almost-kiss, dropping the lit cigarette as he backed away. The stub was ground out under his polished shoes, crushed into the cement before she could catch him red-handed. 

“Hey guys, the service is going to start soon,” she said. One hand came up to inspect her pinned up hair and adjust the small floral fascinator worn at an angle. 

“Uh, yeah...” Dipper coughed a little - Bill couldn’t distinguish if it was from smoking for the first time or simply out of nervousness - and straightened his jacket. “Be right there.” Turning briefly to Bill he added, “I’ll, uh, see you in a bit.” 

He noticed Mabel kept glancing at him as they walked alongside each other. Just before they went inside, Dipper paused and scanned her face, the curiosity in her eyes advertising her thoughts: Mabel was wondering if she’d just interrupted something between them. 

“Nothing happened,” he insisted in a hushed tone. She didn’t seem entirely convinced but let it drop for now. They reentered the crowded room, shuffling through a black sea to rejoin Stan and their parents lined up near the casket. The turnout was larger than expected. Friends and colleagues had flown in from different parts of the country - different parts of the _ world _\- to attend the funeral services. Apparently Ford touched more lives throughout the years than any of them realized. 

His legacy as a dedicated researcher with a brilliant mind would forever outlast him. 

Dipper and Mabel took their places and were suddenly swept into a social whirlwind. There were a variety of familiar faces alongside ones neither recognized. The continuous flow of people expressing their sympathy, shaking hands and doling out hugs felt like it would never end. It reminded the twins of the bottomless pit that appeared outside of the Mystery Shack, the one they thought they’d be forever trapped in until it finally spat them back out where they started. 

The parade of mourners finally subsided and the family collectively took their seats. Dipper turned in his chair, neck craned towards the large archway waiting for Bill to reappear. Just as he was beginning to worry, the blonde occupied the vacant seat beside him and the French doors were closed to prevent any interruptions. 

An older man with a white collar stepped up to the podium and began speaking. “We’ve gathered here today to celebrate the life of Stanford Pines.” What followed was a typical eulogy sprinkled with personal anecdotes the family had relayed to the pastor during the arrangement conference. He led the group through prayers which Bill decidedly abstained from. Music was played and then it came time for sharing personal recollections. “Would anyone like to say a few words?”

“Me and Dipper will,” Mabel volunteered. The siblings stood off to the side to take turns reading the last-minute speech they’d thrown together. “Okay,” she said, reaching up to fix the microphone. Adjusting it caused an unpleasant feedback screech to resonate throughout the room. “When I first met Grunkle Ford, I thought he was totally weird. He knew everything, like a wizard or something!” Mabel threw her hands in the air and several people laughed at her enthusiasm. 

Dipper straightened his tie and picked up where she left off. “Yeah, he, uh... he taught us a lot.” The statement was purposely vague. Certain things were best kept secret - i.e., all of the knowledge of the arcane he’d imparted upon the twins. They neglected to mention the journals and the time he’d spent trapped in the multiverse. Weirdmageddon was also happily glazed over. “We had a lot of great times together.” It was difficult not to mention the adventures they’d been on or the monsters they’d vanquished. Instead they had to stick to more boring events. “One afternoon we played Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons for hours.”

“He was really cool, in a nerdy kind of way,” Mabel giggled. “I’m gonna miss hearing him talk about stuff I didn’t understand.” 

Dipper chuckled a little, his anxiety starting to peak when he realized all eyes were on him, but he pushed through the fear and stuck to the set of notes in front of him. “Grunkle Ford encouraged us to be ourselves and do what makes us happy in life. Because of him, I enrolled in college as a science major. Sometimes I’d call him for help with assignments and he always picked up, no matter how late it was. He always made time for us.”

“There are so many more things we could say, but we‘ll wrap it up. There’s just one more thing: we love you Grunkle Ford.” 

A few more guests stepped up after the twins and spoke about their memories. Most revolved around studying with Ford in doctoral programs or meeting him and Stanley when they sailed around the world. Many kind words were spoken, some funny, others bittersweet. 

But there were few things still left unsaid. 

“And now— ”

“Wait,” Stan ordered. The pastor paused and stepped aside, making way for him to say his piece. “I’m, uh, not great at public speaking, so... yeah.” He cleared his throat, the gritty sound amplified by the microphone. “To start off, I just wanna say that my brother was an asshole.” 

A shocked murmur rose among the crowd, but Stan ignored it and continued, both arms resting on the podium as he hunched over and spoke his mind. “Ford always put himself first, and so did our parents. The selfish bastard couldn’t even say thank you ‘til a couple’a years ago. He always thought he was better than everyone else, even when we were growing up in Jersey.”

Mr. and Mrs. Pines looked… shocked, to say the least, their faces mirroring those of everyone else in attendance. Dipper leaned over into Mabel’s space to ask if they should try and stop him before he went any further. 

“No, just let him continue,” she whispered in response, her arm pressed horizontally over Dipper’s chest to prevent him from interrupting. She was unfalteringly focused on Stan and nodded her encouragement at the elder. 

“I hated that he was always better than me no matter what he did. I spent a lot of years tryin’ to prove myself to him, but I realize now I didn’t have’ta. Ford always saw potential in me, even when everybody else said I was a screwup. I may not have any college degrees - hell, I barely earned my high school diploma - but if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Ford was the best brother I could’ve hoped for.” He turned to the body on display, a thick lump forming in his throat and threatening to choke him. “I’m sure gonna miss ya, Sixer.” For the first time this week, Stan allowed the tears to flow freely, unashamed to break down in front of an audience. 

Mabel pulled a tissue from her bra and wiped away the mascara-stained tears trailing down her face. Stan’s blunt farewell left many of the mourners in a similar state. 

With a few closing remarks, the pastor wrapped up the ceremony and Stan took one final look at his twin before the lid was closed forever.

It was then that the director instructed the pallbearers - Stan, Andrew, Dipper and Bill - on how to to lift the casket without straining their backs. Once outside, the four men maneuvered it into the hearse that would carry Ford’s body to the cemetery where the plot was located. 

For the second time that day, everyone piled into the minivan to follow the long black car leading the procession. Dipper made a point of sitting next to Bill, which was a welcome relief to Mabel who’d grown tired of being a human shield. 

At the gravesite, the funeral party gathered beneath a large tent to watch the internment take place. Whether due to the impending rain or prior commitments, many of the attendees chose to skip this part of the process. The burial was smaller but nicer without so many people standing around; a more intimate experience for the family. Each placed carnations and roses upon the casket and touched the cool steel one last time, whispering final goodbyes and sentiments of love. 

The low rumble of distant thunder accompanied the six on their way back to the vehicle. No one spoke a word during the drive to the Mystery Shack. 

There was enough time for a 45-minute break before they were due to attend the post-funeral dinner. While the others went to relax inside and recover from the emotions weighing heavy on them all, the twins remained outside with Bill. The porch roof protected the trio against the steady drizzle of rain dampening the world around them. Each farewelled Bill with a hug. Against his wishes, Dipper kept it as platonic as possible in case his parents were nearby. It was better off that way, since he still wasn’t sure how to feel. 

“Are we...?”

“I don’t know,” Dipper sighed. He rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Discussing this now was another unwarranted stress. “I need time to think it over. We’ll talk about it more when I get back.”

It may not have been a break up, but it wasn’t a reunion either. Regardless, Bill decided to count it as a win. Rocky ground was better than the perpetual free-fall they’d been stuck in lately. At least now there was some kind of foundation to rebuild on.

* * *

2am was nearing when Bill finally made it home. The skies were cloudless, the moon a glowing crescent floating on an oil slick. In just under eight hours, he was due at work, so getting a full night’s sleep was of utmost importance.

Bill walked the short distance from the bus stop, wheeling his suitcase behind him and periodically looking down at his phone. He’d just rounded the corner when he came across an unexpected sight: his boss was camped out on the steps of his apartment, loosely clutching a half-empty bottle of wine. It was obvious that Nathalie had been crying for a while by the redness lining her usually-bright blue eyes and the unsteadiness to her voice. He sat down beside her on the stairs and her head fell against his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his tuxedo.

Between the tears and alcohol, Bill finally deciphered enough of her drunken rambling to ascertain that she’d been sitting here for a few hours now, waiting for him to return from his trip because she’d gotten into an altercation with her boyfriend and he kicked her out. Left to wander the streets, she could think of only one place to go. She had a general idea of where he lived but knew she’d found the right house when she spotted the Corvette parallel-parked against the curb. 

“Can I stay here tonight?”

He hesitated for a minute, but letting her crash on the couch was the least he could do. Leaving her out on the streets in such a state was hardly the best course of action. “Of course.” He unlocked the door and helped her inside, guiding her unsteady movements. The bottle of wine was placed aside on the coffee table just out of her reach as she plunked down onto the sofa, pulling Bill down with her. They sat together for a moment, staring at their reflections in the blank television screen across the room.

He was about to ask if she needed anything else before he turned in for the night, when her arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him into her personal space. “Nathalie, you’re drunk...”

“I’m not _ that _drunk,” she insisted. He knew it was a flat-out lie but one that she chose to believe. “You’re so sexy.” The alcohol was talking now, making her say inappropriate things that she normally would’ve kept to herself. 

...Not that it made them any less true. 

She pulled Bill into a kiss and he froze - this was never something he wanted to happen, much less expected. But now that Nathalie’s fingers were dipping into his trousers, capturing his full attention, it was impossible to refuse her advances. He decided he wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation... at least not sober. He grabbed the wine bottle from the table and downed the rest of it as she settled on the floor between his legs and went to work, movements careless and sloppy, but a warm mouth around his cock was _ never _a bad thing. 

He could’ve stopped her before it went too far, but he didn’t. 

After a few pleasurable minutes, he pulled Nathalie up and tore at her clothing, yanking it off and shedding his own. Bill grabbed her small frame, laying her down against the cushions, and sank inside of her slick heat without a second thought of the man he’d just left behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well shit, just when things were starting to get patched up between our boys... 
> 
> I’m evil, I know, but I have to keep things interesting!


	4. Blurred Lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! This chapter is slightly longer than the usual ones, which means it takes me more time to write. Trying to be more detailed with my descriptions as well - I feel like those were always my weak point over the years. But I’m having fun with this story so far, I hope you guys like it too even though it’s quite a leap from my first fanfic. I’ve got some big things planned for this one ;)

Dipper pressed down against the length buried deep inside of him, writhing blissfully as he savored every inch filling his aching hole. Deft fingers twined through his disheveled curls, the digits urging his head to the side, throat exposed to the lips that now pressed against the sensitive flesh. The fluttery kisses began at his jaw and trailed down to the space just above his collarbone causing a keening whine to escape his throat. The desperate sound was relayed as a vibrating hum beneath his partner’s mouth. 

He wasn’t used to this. Nearly all of Dipper’s sexual encounters were hard and passionate, the kind that left him with an obvious limp the next day. This slow coupling felt almost torturous, too drawn-out for him to handle. “Harder, _ please_...” Dipper begged, frustration mounting with each second he was subjected to such divine agony. 

He wanted - _ needed _ \- to come, _ so badly. _

The sun’s warmth soothed his skin, a harsh contrast to the bark and knob-like protrusions digging into his back as he was trapped between Bill and the trunk of a sturdy maple. He was uninterested in everything that wasn’t Bill’s mouth or dick currently pulling him apart with an uncharacteristic tenderness as they made love in a clearing that felt more like a tiny meadow. Untamed grass and wildflowers surrounded the pair, sweet scents and color combinations he’d never experienced before. 

But it didn’t matter - nothing mattered. Not when Bill was whispering reverence into his ear which aroused Dipper more than any filthy promises ever could. “You’re gorgeous… so perfect for me.” Finally, _ finally_, the blonde began to move with beautifully angled thrusts brushing Dipper’s prostate, continuing with the litany of praise as the body beneath him shuddered. He was so, so close, just a few more thrusts had him sailing towards completion, and then...

...then he woke up, vision adjusting to a dark ceiling that was most certainly not a summertime meadow, but a stark void hanging overhead. There were no arms supporting his thighs, no shared body heat; the only warmth covering him was a fuzzy blanket loaned to him by Mabel. He sat upon the edge of the sofa, inhaling fractured breaths, trying to come down from the worked up state he’d gotten himself into. It all felt so impossibly real. 

At least these kinds of dreams were better than the recurring nightmares he used to have following Weirdmageddon, both of which, interestingly, involved Bill. Whether idyllic or terrifying, Dipper couldn’t escape the man in any form of reality. 

And _ good lord _had he tried. 

Dipper’s gaze drifted to Mabel’s bedroom door, where a thin crack of light was visible on the other side. She had a tendency to rise earlier than necessary in order to pick out the day’s outfit, shower, and doll herself up, a perpetual early bird as she’d been all their lives. 

Checking the time on his phone indicated he still had an hour before he needed to partake in the morning rituals to prepare for class. Dipper rubbed tired remnants of sleep from his eyes. Now that he was awake, he might as well begin the day, starting off with the problem tenting his boxers. Mabel was probably finished showering by now, so that was his primary objective. Making breakfast and slipping in some reading followed in that order. 

When Mabel wandered into the kitchen thirty minutes later, she found a freshly-showered Dipper sitting behind the island, perched on a stool with a plate of microwaved French toast sticks that were still too hot to touch and the Tolstoy novel he had yet to finish. Her hair was braided today, and the makeup she wore was predictably colorful, if not the slightest bit over the top. Somehow Mabel pulled off a lot of things that would make other people look like a two-bit Lady Gaga knockoff. “Goooood morning, Dipping Sauce! You’re up bright and early on this lovely day.” How she could be so cheerful before the sun had even risen was one of the great mysteries Dipper would never be able to solve. 

“Good morning,” he greeted back, sliding a Star Wars bookmark between the pages like the precious little nerd that he was. Mabel wasn’t the only one allowed to enjoy things that could be seen as uncool. “I saved you some breakfast.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet.” Mabel moved to the refrigerator, pulling out a jar and pouring some of its contents into a bowl with her back turned towards him. He noted that she was still clad in her bathrobe, undecided as to what her outfit of the day would be. She stood and ate across from him, dunking the French toast sticks Dipper had set aside for her into what he now realized was applesauce. “I’m gonna marry whoever invented this,” she groaned - which of the two items she was talking about, he couldn’t distinguish (either way their creators were both long dead) - and proceeded to shovel copious amounts of food into her face. It was definitely worth having to reapply her lipstick over. 

Dipper stayed quiet, picking at his own plate and wondering if he should tell her. It took him a few long minutes, but soon enough, the words were coming out, awkward and stumbling as usual. He kept his head down. “I’m, uh… I’m meeting Bill later today.” He glanced at her, noticing the way her eyes flickered with interest and she perked up further, if that was even possible given her already-bubbly demeanor. 

“Oooh, are you two back on now? Did stuffing you in the closet actually work?” 

“In that order: no, and... maybe? We’re getting together today to discuss it more.” They’d had a text conversation the previous day which he’d done his best to hide from Mabel so she wouldn’t interfere again. Now that all of the details were worked out, there wasn’t any harm in bringing it up. 

“Be nice to him,” Mabel chimed, continuing to stuff her mouth full and continue speaking regardless. “I know he’s doing a lot of bad stuff, but I understand why. I did a lot of the same things in high school.” Talking about it brought up more memories than she cared to recount, most of which she’d done her best to bury. “He probably felt like he wasn’t getting enough attention from you and went to seek it out from other people.” 

It was a simplified but absolutely correct statement that explained why Bill was acting like an asshole more than usual lately.

“Just promise me that you’ll try to see things from his perspective,” she said, raising one eyebrow comically higher than the other even though he knew she was being serious. 

“Easier said than done.”

“Dipper…”

“_Fine_.” 

“Good. Well, I’m gonna finish getting ready for my presentation this morning. Thanks for the yummy breakfast, bro-bro.” She patted his back as she exited the kitchen to begin a full raid of her closet. 

* * *

Overtaken with worry, Dipper drew in a sharp breath as he sat on a bench across from the storefront where Bill worked. His Wednesday schedule had a sizable gap between classes which made it perfect for dropping by the café when Bill went on his lunch break. But now that Dipper was actually here after avoiding the place for so long, it felt like he was intruding somehow. He hung back for a while, people-watching as customers entered and exited clutching cardboard caddies of coffee and boxes of baked goods. A pair of sorority girls passed by, giggling and gushing about the cute guy who’d served them. He realized they were referring to Bill with rising jealousy, the only guy working in a store full of women. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much, but it did, especially now that they were on the verge of getting back together. Maybe. That’s why Bill agreed to meet him, right? What if he’d read the situation incorrectly? Shit, maybe they were actually going to break up… 

A tiny voice in his mind told him not to overthink it and to stop sitting there getting worked up over things that might not even happen. Finally Dipper gathered enough courage to walk up to the double glass door and pull one side open. It was in that moment that he realized he’d never actually stepped foot inside before. He’d always been too busy to spare a moment of precious study time to hang out here. Looking over the ambient fairy lights and brick interior, he wondered if maybe he was just as much of a selfish idiot as Bill. 

Speaking of the blonde, Dipper spotted him tending to a growing line of customers indulging in their noontime sugar fix. Behind the counter, Bill and two female employees were busting their asses to accommodate the lunch rush. Dipper stood off to the side, waiting timidly in the wings until an opportunity to catch his attention arose. 

“What can I get for you, sir?” A woman with titian hair was suddenly addressing him and he felt like he’d just been caught off guard. Bill’s eyes were momentarily drawn away from the customer he was assisting, but he continued to focus on the man’s needs until he walked away from the counter.

Dipper was about to reply when Bill spoke up, effectively stealing the words from his mouth. “He’s here for me, Nathalie. I’m going to finish these orders and take my lunch.” 

“Oh, um… sure thing.” She studied Dipper carefully, bordering on staring as she wondered why he wanted to speak to Bill. She wasn’t jealous, just curious, since the only people that came by asking for him were of a… curvier, more feminine nature. The idea of Dipper being his boyfriend hadn’t occurred to her, since Bill said they’d broken up months ago. 

Dipper half-smiled. He was unsure of what to make of Nathalie, someone Bill had only spoken about from time to time in passing, but who he’d never actually been introduced to. Probably because he never actually made an effort to drop in. She seemed nice enough, if first impressions were anything to go by. 

He continued standing around, focusing on the industrial-chic decor until Bill punched out and joined him with a grin. “Hey, Pine Tree. Let’s go eat; that place you love is just a few blocks from here.” 

Dipper knew immediately which restaurant Bill was referring to. Their milkshakes were to _ die _for. At that, his stomach grumbled its audible agreement. “My car or yours?”

A shitty outdated sedan or his brand new baby? The choice was obvious. “I’ll drive,” Bill offered, retrieving his keys from the back pocket of his jeans. He led Dipper to the employee parking lot where the car sat looking sleek and aggressive compared to its less attractive brethren. He hadn’t seen it until now because Bill had purchased it during their separation - possibly another way of filling one Dipper-sized gap - but _ boy _did it suit someone with a mountain-sized ego. 

In other words, it was the perfect choice for Bill. 

Unbridled amusement struck Dipper upon noticing the pine tree air freshener (dark blue, _ obviously _) which dangled from the rearview mirror. It was labeled ‘new car scent’ which was clearly redundant, given that the Corvette hardly looked broken in, much unlike his own car with its worn treads and considerable dent on the back end. That one was Bill’s doing, when he was learning to drive and gravely misjudged the distance between the end of the parking spot and a light post.

The drive was quiet, discomfort drowned out by whatever top 100 hit was currently commanding the airwaves. Fortunately they didn’t have far to go. The sign for the establishment loomed up ahead and Bill swung the car into a vacant spot with practiced precision. He always _ did _make parallel parking look easy. 

Stepping inside the restaurant made it feel like they’d gone back in time to a better version of their relationship when Dipper first suggested they try the place out during date night. Nothing had changed except for the two of them, which was a real shame considering all of the wonderful memories made here. 

They were guided to a booth and handed menus, even though each had their own preference based on past experiences, but for whatever reason they found themselves looking over the selection anyway. For Dipper, everything became a jumble of nonsensical characters because he was more focused on the reason for this rendezvous rather than what he wanted to order. 

“Get whatever you’d like, sweetie; lunch is on me.” 

“This isn’t a date,” Dipper hissed, laying his menu down none-too-gently and shooting Bill a pointed look.

“Didn’t say it was.” Bill shrugged. He set his own menu down in response to the insistent brunette, giving him a once over. “That is, unless you want it to be,” he added with a wink. 

The waitress came by with the usual spiel about new entrees and took their drink orders - Bill was strongly tempted by the alcohol selection, but showing up to work drunk wasn’t a great idea (hungover didn’t count though). Instead he elected for an iced tea and an overpriced appetizer, the latter of which they used to split because it was simply too much for one person alone. 

Dipper shifted on his side of the table, checking his phone every now and then. The short time they had was quickly being eaten up by idle chatter. “So... I wanted to talk to you...” 

“I’m listening.” The blonde folded his arms on the tabletop and focused every ounce of attention on his beautiful little tree. 

“Fine, um... I just...” Words were flowing now, which was a brilliant start, but he needed them to make sense. What Dipper wanted to say was crystal clear in his head, but always seemed to get tangled up somewhere along the way and butchered upon utterance. And now Bill was waiting expectantly which made things worse. “I - ...”

“Deep breaths, sweetie.”

“Stop calling me that.” Regardless of the pet name, Dipper did as Bill suggested and steadied himself. After a quick repose he tried again. “I was thinking last night before I went to bed…” _ Before the incredible sex dream with you_, “if there’s any hope of rekindling what we used to have, there needs to be ground rules. We could make up a list of conditions - things we want the other to do to try and make it work this time - and then review them together. Maybe tomorrow at your place?” He avoided saying ‘our place’ to keep from appearing overeager. After all, whatever steps they were going to take had to be implemented with care. 

“Works for me,” Bill replied. The order came out then and both dug in, regarding each other occasionally as they ate and drained their glasses. No mention of his one night stand with Nathalie was brought up. It never would be. Instead, more lighthearted subjects were discussed until an idea formed in Bill’s mind. “Are you free tonight?” 

Dipper shook his head. “No. I have class at one, and then I’m working from three to seven.”

“Speaking of which, I need to get back soon,” Bill announced, throwing a tip onto the table, sliding out of the booth and leaving half of his food untouched. Dipper stood up too, feeling like the meeting flew by and they barely had a chance to eat. But he followed Bill back to his car without complaining. He was just thankful they’d gotten the opportunity to talk. 

In the employee parking lot, Bill and Dipper exited the car and the former decided there was just enough time for a quick cigarette. He passed one to Dipper and they shared a brief smoker’s reprieve. “I don’t know about you,” Bill finally said, “but it was nice getting together today.”

“Yeah, it was,” Dipper replied with a slight somberness tainting his voice. Bill put out what remained of his cigarette, signifying the end of their “not-date”. Before he could leave, Dipper pulled him into a half-hug that lasted just a bit longer than it should have, but neither was complaining.

“See ya later, cutie,” Bill winked. 

“Bye.” Dipper watched until he disappeared into the back entrance and stood stationary until he’d finished the bummed cigarette. Afterwards, he returned to his own car parked out front and began the drive back to campus. 

Inside the shop, Bill rounded a counter to clock back in and resume his daily obligations. The sound of rubber soles on linoleum caused Nathalie to poke her head out of her office. “Did you have fun with your friend?”

“Boyfriend. We’re trying to work things out,” he explained over his shoulder as he clocked back in and re-tied the apron around his waist. He was a few minutes late returning to work, but bosslady here had forgiven him for worse. If he needed to, he’d make that time up by staying a little after his shift officially ended. “And yeah, I really missed him.”

A growing guilt hit Nathalie straight in the gut with the brutality of a professional MMA fighter. She slipped back into her workspace but spoke loudly enough for him to hear in the other room. “I’m trying to do the same with my boyfriend.” It wasn’t a lie spoken for her own benefit - they really _ were _trying their best to fix things. It was slow-going but at least Craig had been open to giving their relationship another try. “He apologized for the argument last week. Bought me flowers. I didn’t tell him what we...” she trailed off, leaving the insinuation unspoken because it was still too embarrassing to mention. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bill replied playfully, a way of reassuring her that he was on the same page. Acting like nothing ever happened was the best solution they could come up with.

* * *

Dipper sat behind the Earth Sciences circulation desk, a curved wooden behemoth that was far too large for one person alone. Normally there were two or three other librarians present to run the show since he was only a lowly assistant, but one of his coworkers went home sick and his boss needed to leave early to pick her kids up from soccer and ballet practice. The rush of students hurrying in to cram copious amounts of information into their heads passed about an hour ago, and now things had wound down to the point of crypt-like stillness. It was nice not having to catalog reference materials or collect overdue fines, yet still get paid for his time. It wasn’t that he minded helping people out, but sometimes the less ‘intellectually-inclined’ students were trouble. His least favorite experiences included kicking a guy out that was baked twelve ways to Sunday and having to call security on a girl who thought smuggling books out in her backpack was a foolproof idea. 

Since the library was mostly deserted now, he decided to focus on homework until it was time to close up for the night. As usual, the chemistry portion of his studies was kicking his ass. 

_ “Translate the following word equations into formula equations: _

_ 1.) A sodium carbonate solution reacts with aqueous lead (II) nitrate to recover and dispose of an environmentally hazardous substance. _

_ 2.) Potassium chlorate solid decomposes when heated and forms potassium chloride solid and oxygen gas.” _

Eight more similarly structured questions followed - eight more equations he had no clue how to construct. The eraser portion of the pencil he held tapped against his lower lip while he wracked his brain, trying to recall yesterday’s lecture but ultimately proving unsuccessful.

If only Ford was around to give him a crash course over the phone. 

He glanced up at the clock and back to the assignment that was determined to incite a debilitating headache, and then back up to the clock because he hadn’t really been paying attention the first time. It was a handful of minutes past six which meant there was less than an hour to go before he could sign out and lock up for the night. Just outside the pane of glass to his left, the wind struck a particularly chilling note, fluttering through the trees and plucking half-amber leaves from their branches. Twilight was quickly approaching, blurring and muting hues as daylight evaporated from the changing atmosphere. 

A moment later, Dipper became vaguely aware that someone had entered the library and was now hovering near the front desk. “Can I help you?” he muttered without lifting his eyes from the worksheet. It wasn’t meant to come out in such a bland, uninterested tone, but today had been a long day and he wanted nothing more than to go home, eat something, and possibly Google the answers to this assignment so he didn’t need to spend any more time ripping his hair out. 

“Is that any way to greet your favorite person?” Standing before him was the infuriatingly wonderful heap of sarcasm known as Bill. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see you again... and bring you this.” He handed Dipper a to-go cup with the logo of his workplace stamped across the front - a tentative sip confirmed it was hot chocolate - and a crinkled paper bag containing a glazed cinnamon roll. Bill was already drinking from his own, halfway through the smooth beverage that provided soothing warmth from the bitter October wind. “I thought I’d swing by, provide some devastatingly handsome company.”

Dipper suppressed the urge to roll his eyes even if the handsome part was absolutely true. “Thanks,” he responded kindly, setting the cinnamon roll aside for later and favoring the drink instead. He focused on the word problems again, beginning to write down a guess and then erasing it entirely because he still wasn’t sure.

Bill hopped over the wooden barrier separating them and began peeling off his long wool overcoat and scarf, folding them on the wooden desk and pulling up a vacant chair. Dipper initially protested this, knowing that he could get in trouble for letting a guest enter a staff-only area, but none of his superiors were around so he chose to let it slide. 

“Watcha workin’ on?”

“_Chemistry_.” He was unable to hide the distaste creeping into his voice at the thought of the ‘C’ grade he was fighting so hard to push back into ‘B’-minus territory. 

Bill peered over his shoulder, the sudden closeness causing Dipper’s heart to accelerate a few hundred beats. This kind of thing was definitely out of his wheelhouse, so he chose to make a half-joking comment instead. “You and I always had a lot of that.” 

Dipper shifted to fully face him, eyes locked with his as they often used to do. It was like having a telepathic conversation, somehow conveying so many feelings without the use of words. His gaze trailed downwards, flicking from Bill’s eyes to his lips, taking in the sight of the face he used to love so damn much - maybe still did. It would be easy to lean in, test the waters a bit. Bill was apparently thinking the same thing, moving slightly closer, inching forward in his seat. 

“Excuse me?” A mousy voice interrupted. Neither had noticed the girl that materialized like a cockblocking ghost. 

Dipper immediately sat up straight and placed his full attention on her, the spell between them broken. “Oh, uh… is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, I’m having trouble finding _ Here on Earth: A Natural History of the Planet _ by Tim Flannery?”

He scooted over to the computer and typed in his credentials, navigating to the school’s database that interconnected all of the libraries on campus. A five-second search uncovered which section the book was in. “Come with me.” Per his instructions, the girl followed - and so did Bill - as Dipper wandered up to the library’s second level. His fingers passed over the spines of several works until he’d located the particular call number referenced in the database. 

“Oh god, thank you _ so _much. I have a research paper due on Friday and I would’ve died if I couldn’t find this book.”

“You’re welcome,” Dipper nodded, his natural politeness preventing it from coming out dry and rehearsed. The young woman bounded back to the section of the library with desktop computers, leaving him and Bill to stand blankly in the aisle, surrounded by the cracking hum of the building’s ancient heating system. 

He noted that their positions closely mirrored the broom closet encounter, trying not to become ensnared by the man who starred in his dreams and every other waking thought he had. But Dipper’s heart soon overruled his head, rationale dissolving under the weight of pure _ want _. The boundaries were terribly blurred ever since their almost-kiss in Gravity Falls and now, hardly a week later, they found themselves locked in a similar situation. 

The dream from this morning flitted into his mind, along with the notion that it’d be easy to replicate if only in a different - more private - setting. The cheap cologne that Dipper had grown so accustomed to was once again filling his nose, overtaking his olfactory senses and firing lust-fueled impulses to his brain, making it short out entirely. Bill was taking a few steps closer, not quite trapping him against the bookcase but enough for the movement to come off as predatory. Lustful. Dipper had an out if he needed it, but frankly, he wasn’t going anywhere. They were both still deeply, undeniably attracted to each other and with each lingering glance it was becoming harder to fight. No matter how hard he tried, Dipper could feel himself cracking from the inside out. Maybe he was an addict too, just not in the traditional sense. 

Bill Cipher was his drug of choice and he needed a fix _ now. _

“Come here.” With two words, the dam burst and Dipper was suddenly on him, nipping at Bill’s lips and sucking on his tongue, elevating their encounter to pornographic levels given his prolonged sexual drought. They couldn’t fuck here, but making out was just as satisfying. Notes of sweet cocoa transferred between the pair with each wet, sensual slide. Kissing Bill never failed to send shivery tingles down Dipper’s spine, never failed to break him completely.

Bill was coming apart too, putting all the effort he possibly could into leaving Dipper breathless. For someone who’d been so adamant about keeping his distance, the kid was just as receptive as he’d always been. In truth, seduction wasn’t part of Bill’s agenda tonight, but Dipper’s boldness was certainly a welcome change of pace. So he used it to his advantage and pushed deeper into his partner’s warm, welcoming cavern. 

Doubt was swallowed along with the soft moans Bill was pulling from him, skin prickling with goosebumps each time he flicked his tongue just so, or traced his fingertips over a particular erogenous zone. Dipper couldn’t remember the last time he’d been kissed with such untamed passion. It was so damn good that the moment Bill paused to regain his breath, Dipper yanked him back in for more. 

“Eager, aren’t you, Pine Tree?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.” Dipper’s inked arms curled around his upper back like leafy tendrils in search of the sun, preventing Bill from leaving until it eventually dawned on the brunette that he was at work, and would need to return to the desk soon. “Don’t forget to write your conditions for tomorrow,” he husked, voice breathy, sensual. 

“See you at our place tomorrow night.” Bill softly pecked Dipper’s swollen lips and smiled. Things were starting to feel right again. “Hell, I’ll even make us dinner.” Bill farewelled him with a final kiss and disappeared, but his presence lingered on Dipper’s lips long after he left; long after the brunette signed out for the night, drove home with the radio playing at a low volume and climbed the stairs to Mabel’s third floor apartment, backpack in tow. 

He found his sister sitting cross-legged on the sofa, iPad in hand as she FaceTimed with Grunkle Stan. Pickle was nestled in the hair draped over her shoulder, nest-like and comforting, waking from his nap when Dipper came to sit beside them. 

“Hey Dipper. I was just telling Mabel here that I decided ta draft a will, seeing how Ford just…” Stan couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not yet. “When I kick the bucket, I’m leaving the Mystery Shack to the two of you. I don’t care if you move in here or turn it into a stuffy bed and breakfast. Just as long as it stays in the family.”

“What about Mom and Dad?” 

“Eh, they wouldn’t appreciate it. Not like you kids would.” An incorrect angle produced an up-the-nose shot as he walked into another room, complete with untrimmed old man hairs, but the camera corrected itself when Stan dropped into his recliner with a grunt. The Mystery Shack was never exactly his to begin with, but Ford would’ve wanted ‘their’ kids to have it anyway. “Welp, I’m gonna have a beer and settle in for the night,” he lifted an unopened bottle into view, wiggling it slightly for emphasis. “Love you both.”

“Love you too, Grunkle Stan,” the twins chimed in unison. The video disconnected and Mabel set the tablet aside. She nudged two fingers against Pickle’s stomach, encouraging him to step up while she stroked his neatly-preened feathers and grinned at Dipper. “Okay, I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for you to get home. You _ have _ to tell me how things went with Bill today. And I want details, so spill!”

“We had lunch… talked about setting guidelines for our relationship,” Dipper recalled with amusement at his sister’s eagerness. “He stopped by the library tonight with hot chocolate.” 

“Aww!” 

“And… we might’ve kissed a little…” 

The unholy screech that escaped Mabel sent Pickle flapping across the room in a panic while she fangirled over her brother and Bill and the possibility of their renewed relationship. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are all Mabel at the end of this chapter. 
> 
> Also, 
> 
> CINNAMON FRENCH TOAST STICKS + APPLESAUCE = AMAZINGNESS. Highly recommended if you haven’t tried it before. 
> 
> Now I’m hungry dang it :(


	5. Terms and Conditions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There were a lot of comments on the last chapter regarding Bill getting what he deserves, so I’ll address them all here: 
> 
> I’m definitely going to make Bill pay for his actions, though not just yet. I’ve outlined the whole story in detail and things should start falling apart (pun intended?) around Chapter 9 or thereabouts. 
> 
> Also for clarification if anyone needs it, Dipper _**does**_ know that Bill has been sleeping around (referenced in chapter 1), and about his drug use and alcoholism. He just doesn’t know that Bill and Nathalie had sex after he returned home from the funeral ;)
> 
> I have to say that I love how eager you all are lol. Be patient my loves! *patpat*
> 
> Lots of italics in this one because _emphasis._

It was just after sunset when Dipper pulled up to the place he once called home. Residual hues of a deep pomegranate sky faded across the horizon, giving way to a calm evening. He killed the engine and flipped open the visor mirror, stalling by checking over his appearance and wondering if setting up this meeting was a mistake. Their mini-makeout session yesterday was nothing short of satisfying and he craved more, but the logical side of his brain continued to spout off reasons why having dinner with Bill was a bad idea; why it’d be easier to leave and send an official breakup text later. Considering all of the shit Bill put him through nearly caused him to call the whole thing off, but the vestigial hope in his heart refused to die. So Dipper was going to give the man one final chance to get his act together. 

He just prayed he wouldn’t regret that decision. 

Dipper found himself pausing in front of the steel door with a decorative glass inset, taking a second to send Mabel a text to let her know he arrived safely and to wish him luck. He then pressed an index finger to the bell, quieting the inner voice in his head that was currently trying to talk its way out of this. 

There was a bit of shuffling on the other side before the door opened to the sight of Bill clad in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, a yellow tie popping out against the midnight fabric. The suave bastard. “Come in,” he grinned, “dinner’s almost ready.”

Dipper accepted the invitation and stepped inside as Bill shut the door behind him and walked away. The apartment looked much the same as the day he left, aside from thin layers of dust coating the entertainment stand and a few stray objects that somehow managed to deviate from their designated spots. Clearly Bill didn’t have the dedication required to keep an immaculate house - probably because he was never home these days, always at work or in some random girl’s bed... Dipper stopped himself right there before he fell headlong into an envious pit and ruined the entire evening. He hung back in the foyer, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack beside the door. “So, what did you decide to make?” Something was bubbling in the oven but it was difficult to tell exactly what from where he stood. 

“Macaroni and cheese,” Bill hummed, removing a glass casserole dish from the oven and laying the hot pads aside. “And not that cheap-ass boxed shit either.” He gestured aggressively with the wooden spoon in his hand. Whoever decided powdered cheese was better than aged cheddar deserved to be strung up and gutted. “_This _is homemade.” He may not have been the world’s best cook, but Bill was perfectly capable of following a recipe, step-by-step from the food website he found it on. It had almost five stars across three-thousand reviews, so it had to be more or less decent, right?

The aroma smelled extra enticing to Dipper, who’d chosen to skip lunch this afternoon. Berkeley’s dining hall food was hit-or-miss most days, depending which cooks were manning the grill. Today was some sort of lentil soup - a hard pass given that it resembled vomit and probably tasted like it too. Instead, Dipper spent the hour jotting down detailed notes from his ecology textbook until it was time for class, because whenever free time came along, it felt wasteful not to be doing something school-related. Mabel pointed out one day that his overt studiousness alienated people - including Bill. Her younger brother’s social life was nonexistent because he was always focused on his education, and Bill hated playing second fiddle to his coursework. As much as Dipper didn’t want to admit it, he almost couldn’t blame him for looking to others for company. 

Bill wasn’t the only one acting the part of shitty boyfriend these days. 

Acrylic paintings of waterlilies went ignored as he moved from the entryway to the round oak dining table they’d purchased shortly after moving in. It sat off to the side of the living room, draped with a fresh linen tablecloth. On top, two place settings were arranged with the careful precision of a fine dining establishment. Bill had even gone the extra mile with lit candles. 

As much as the gesture appealed to his sappier side, Dipper brushed it off. This wasn’t some kind of romantic evening, just two guys getting together to negotiate the terms of their relationship, and he decided to remind him of that. 

“You _ do _know this isn’t a date, right?”

“Keep telling yourself that, babydoll.” 

Again with the ridiculous pet names. Dipper let it slide, watching as Bill plated up two servings and brought them over to the table. He then proceeded to pour each of them a generous amount of Merlot and snapped off the lights (which Dipper figured was for the ambiance) before taking his seat. 

The brunette peered down at the wine effervescing in his glass. Honestly, he wasn’t much of a drinker, but he decided to indulge the blonde and took small sips until he became accustomed to the taste (which was _ definitely _an acquired one), though the beverage grew on him as the evening progressed. 

“Good, isn’t it? This is my favorite kind.” In the low light, shadows flickered across Bill’s face, highlighting all of his best features. He rambled on about the wine’s flavor profile, which Dipper really didn’t care about, tuning out as he admired the sharp angles of his jaw and his unnecessarily dressy attire. The dream demon always cleaned up nicely. But then again, he could make a week-old wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants look hot. 

Dipper may have jumped a little when Bill suddenly snapped his fingers inches from his face. “Earth to Pine Tree. You were spacing out on me.”

“I was paying attention,” Dipper weakly insisted, but his cheeks grew red-bitten as he knew he’d been caught. 

“Liar. You were checking me out just now,” the blonde grinned, the sharp tug of his lips widening with Dipper’s visual confirmation. Bill didn’t need to rely on his keen observation skills to know when someone was undressing him with their eyes. “How about you taste the food before trying to jump in the sack with me?”

Blushing harder than before, Dipper took a cautious first bite in case it sucked and needed to be spat back into a napkin when Bill wasn’t looking. “Oh... _ wow_.” It was... surprisingly good, maybe even great. The dish brought into question his non-existent faith in Bill’s culinary skills and he raised an eyebrow as he looked from the food to the man sitting across from him. “Did you really make this? ‘Cause I wouldn’t be mad if it’s actually store-bought and you just warmed it up.” 

“I can’t believe you would insult the chef like that. After I slaved _ all day_,” he pouted with mock-offense. His tone then shifted into something more serious. “Cross my heart and hope to die - I swear it was all me. Impressed?” He raised an eyebrow over the rim of the wine glass and the dark sea that sloshed within it. 

“Yeah - you managed to cook dinner without setting the place on fire.”

Not exactly what Bill was going for, but he’d take it. “Thanks for the compliment,” he purred gracefully, traces of humor reflecting in the glint of his gold irises. They stood out more in the near-darkness - not that Dipper took notice or anything. “How did your chemistry homework go today?”

He entertained the question out of pure politeness. It was a subject he would rather not discuss, but found himself doing so anyway. “Six out of eight correct, and that’s only because I tried to look up the answers.” He stared down into the mass of cheesy pasta, pushing it around before gathering some onto the fork. “I might have to look into finding a tutor.”

“I don’t know much about chemical equations, but I could certainly tutor you in other subjects...”

Dipper turned red again at the blatant flirtation and jammed another forkful of macaroni into his mouth, hoping it would give him enough time to come up with a clever quip. 

It didn’t. 

* * *

Over the course of their dinner, Dipper settled down into his chair and relaxed as one hour faded into the next. The conversation flowed naturally and he found himself falling back into the easy domesticity of it all, to the point where he’d almost forgotten why he was here.

Close to the end of the meal, when Dipper was mostly sated and a lot more relaxed, he handed Bill a piece of paper and instructed him to read it out loud. Bill did as he was told, finding that Dipper’s list was longer than his by two numbered bullets. “‘Condition One - You will complete therapy with an addictions counselor and participate in a twelve-step program.’” 

Dipper folded his arms over his chest, a sign that he was unwilling to budge on this stance. “I want you to see a professional.” Whatever positively contributed to Bill’s sobriety was a worthy cause.

The man scoffed as he picked up his wine glass, feeling almost over-protective of it now that Dipper was threatening to destroy the pattern of comfortable numbness he’d fallen into. “That touchy-feely ‘talk-it-out’ crap doesn’t always work.”

“It’s better than letting you sit here, slowly killing yourself. So you can go through counseling or you can check into rehab. Your choice.” 

_ Touché. _Bill opted to move on instead of pressing the matter further. “‘Two - No more drugs or alcohol.’ Obviously,” he muttered the word under his breath, given Dipper’s first condition. Clearly the goal here was sobriety. He paused, eyes drifting to the alcohol in his hand questioningly. “The wine right now doesn’t count though, right?” 

That comment right there was indicative of why he needed help. “No, but only because you’re already drinking it.” It’d be easy for Dipper to dump the contents down the kitchen sink, but doing so would only piss Bill off and destroy the fragile trust lingering between them. 

“What about cigarettes?” he asked, praying that Dipper would at least let him keep something to remedy the stresses of everyday life. Going even 24 hours without smoking would be hell (the figurative kind, not the literal place, which was actually a _ lot _ nicer than religious texts made it out to be). No matter what, he’d definitely put up a fight in order to maintain a daily nicotine fix. No one was going to take that from him. 

“I was thinking more like _ illegal _drugs,” Dipper clarified. The first two points he expected an argument to break out over, but none came. Either Dipper had caught him in a good mood, or Bill was just that desperate to get back together that he was willing to agree to anything. “And you’ll also break ties with any dealers you know. Hanging out with those people is only going to get you into trouble.”

“I guess so,” Bill conceded with a great deal of reluctance. ‘Those people’ were his good friends, or so he liked to think. The kid _ really _ wasn’t making this easy for him. “‘Three - If you wish to attend parties on campus you must bring me along.’ Hang on, _ you _wanna go to parties?”

“Not really,” Dipper shrugged. “It’s more so I can keep an eye on you.”

He should’ve known, Buzzkill McBorington. “You’d enjoy them if you just let your hair down for once,” Bill said with a roll of his eyes. 

Dipper made a sound of dissension at that. The party scene was never his thing, not even in high school, but the compromise meant Bill could continue having fun (within reason) and Dipper didn’t need to spend the whole night wondering who Bill was with and what kind of... ‘recreational activities’ they were partaking in. 

“‘Four - Get tested for STD’s and no more sleeping around.’” He drowned the thoughts of Nathalie that rose unbidden in his mind, refusing to let guilt get the better of him. It was a useless emotion anyway, designed to torture people into coming clean, and Bill would rather remain tainted.

“I don’t know who you’ve been with, but I doubt you’ve been careful.” Dense silence confirmed Dipper’s suspicions, the answer he hadn’t been hoping for. He ached to ask Bill how many others he’d slept with, but the answer would only devastate him, so it went painfully unaddressed.

After a tense moment, Bill cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway. ‘Five - I will assign you household tasks to complete when I see fit.’ Like a little kid? Do I get an allowance too, daddy?” 

Dipper’s mouth formed a hard line as he glared at Bill, unamused by his teasing. (Well, the ‘daddy’ part might’ve gotten to him a little, but they’d have to explore that some other time). “I’ll need your help around the house. It‘ll take some stress off of me. Just simple things like vacuuming and picking up clutter,” Dipper explained, gesturing at the items Bill hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet. 

The blonde nodded his assent, but inwardly groaned - chores always sucked no matter how ‘simple’ they were. He couldn’t even bring himself to do the dishes some nights. “‘Lastly, once all of the aforementioned requirements are met, I get to...’” Bill faltered, unsure if he was misreading Dipper’s handwriting as a result of the poor lighting. “...‘dominate you.’” For a while, he was unsure of what to say, effectively shocked into silence. Switching positions was a line they never crossed. Bill topped, Dipper bottomed - except for when the blonde was feeling generous and went down on him, but even then, he was the one pulling the strings. “Let me get this straight - you want to tie me up and fuck me in the _ ass?_” 

Dipper looked at him like he was stupid. “Uh, yeah? That is… unless you’re scared to give up control.” He was playing on the knowledge that Bill had a hard time backing down from challenges and hoped he’d take the bait. 

“Pfft. Nothing scares me, sweetheart,” Bill’s arrogance won out, just like Dipper was counting on. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

“Great. I’m looking forward to it.” He smiled and noted Bill’s abrupt shift in body language, knowing well enough that he was instantly regretting whatever he just signed himself over to. This might turn out to be more enjoyable than Dipper initially thought. “So, do you have any concerns about what I came up with?” 

Bill immediately read into that as: ‘_do you want to pussy out, you chicken?’ _ which caused his answer to come too quickly out of spite. “No.”

..._Yes_. Out of all the terms he was agreeing to, the idea of being dominated freaked him out the most. Bill Cipher was _ not _one to give up control, whether in the Multiverse or the bedroom. Therefore, taking on the role of submissive was uncharted territory that they never once tried to explore in the three years spent together. As much as he didn’t want to, he’d need to come to terms with his reluctance if it meant keeping Dipper around.

“Are you sure?” He was providing Bill with one last out if he needed it. “Because if you’re not—” 

“I already said I’m _ fine_.” The words held a snap to them, which Bill quickly remedied by grabbing a page resting beside him and handing it to Dipper to read. A change of subject was in order. “Here’s what I came up with.”

Dipper accepted the paper, inwardly admitting to himself that getting the best of Bill for a change was actually kind of fun. 

“‘Number one - put aside time for date nights.’ That actually sounds nice.” Making an effort to go out and reconnect was on par with the romance films Mabel loved so much (which he also enjoyed but would never admit). “‘Number two - move back into our apartment.’” Dipper had already been considering it while writing his own list last night, so this was just further confirmation to move his things out of Mabel’s, which she’d probably be glad for. Not to say she didn’t love Dipper with all of her heart, but having a sibling crash on your couch long term wasn’t the most ideal thing in the world. “I’ll start packing my stuff when I get back.”

“Glad to hear it,” Bill smiled, genuine and soft this time. Refilling his glass, he motioned for Dipper to continue.

“‘Number three - come along to social events with me_. _’ Okay, at least we’re on the same page with that.” 

He waited for Dipper to go onto the next item with a knowing smirk, studying his face to see what his reaction would be.

“‘Number four - blowjobs whenever I ask for the next month.’” The top of the paper fell limp as Dipper focused his attention on the man who looked a little too amused for his liking. “_Really_, Bill?” 

“Hm, you’re right. Give me a sec.” He swiped the paper and scribbled something out before sliding it back. 

“‘Blowjobs whenever I ask for the next _ two _ months_._’” The younger frowned at the amendment, but accepted it begrudgingly. He couldn’t exactly flake out when his own set of requirements included something sexual. 

“Take it or leave it, sweetheart. Now read the last one,” Bill nodded before the other had the chance to whine some more about having to give head. 

Dipper rolled his eyes, but did as Bill instructed. His heart suddenly seized and he choked on his own saliva upon reading the fifth and final numbered bullet. _ No way. _He read it again and then once more after that before looking to Bill to see if this was some sort of twisted joke, but the expression on his face was dead serious. 

“Y-you want me to tell my _ mom and dad _about us?” 

“Bingo,” Bill said plainly, then sat quietly as he waited for the gravity of the request to _ really _hit Dipper. 

It didn’t take long. 

“But...” Dipper was truly at a loss, mouth hanging as he tried to form sentences that remained just beyond his grasp. Ultimately, a single word slipped out: “_Why? _”

“Why?” the blonde echoed, “Because I’m sick of hiding who we are, Dipper. We’re always making up excuses and tiptoeing around your parents. Hell,” he laughed sourly, swirling the wine in his glass, “they think we’re _ roommates _for fuck’s sake. It was fun for a while, but I’m tired of the charade.”

The notion of coming out to his parents sat heavy like a rock in Dipper’s stomach. “When?” His throat felt scratchy and dry, like all of the fluid in his body had completely drained away. The room was now warm - uncomfortably so. He shifted in his seat and pulled at his collar, beads of sweat forming near his temple. 

“Before the new year,” Bill replied calmly. “That gives you a little over two months.”

Holy shit, that was a lot sooner than Dipper expected. Panic overcame him, dulled slightly by the wine, but nonetheless debilitating as it settled into his trembling form. 

“Oh, and one more thing.” The grave tone drew the brunette’s attention to the center of Bill’s face. He waited a beat, both for suspense and until he was sure the kid was listening. “If _ you _ don’t tell them, _ I _will.”

Dipper almost died on the spot, face paling in a way that Bill found amusing as he observed from across the table. The tightness in his chest was undoubtedly within heart attack range, or so it felt. If there was one thing worse than revealing his sexual orientation, it was Bill spilling the beans for him. He dreaded imagining how _ that _ scenario played out; he was hardly shy and would probably jump into the full extent of their sex life, subjecting Mr. and Mrs. Pines to all of the raunchy details like the gorgeous contortion of their son’s orgasm face whenever they did it missionary style. _ No way _ was Dipper going to let that happen. “I’ll do it,” he promised hesitantly. “I’ll tell them.”

Bill stood and cleared their plates from the table, pausing to ruffle the boy’s hair as he passed by. “And I’m going to be there when you do.” 

Once Bill left the room, Dipper reached for the near-empty Merlot and poured himself a generous second drink because after an ultimatum like that, he _ needed _it. 

* * *

When Bill returned, Dipper had already emptied his glass. “I should probably go now.” He went to stand, intending to farewell Bill and grab his coat on the way out, but he had to catch the back of the chair to steady his wobbling frame. 

_ Lightweight_, Bill chuckled to himself, but he stepped in Dipper’s path to prevent him from making a beeline for the front door. “You shouldn’t drive like this,” he pointed out. It was obvious Dipper was tipsy from the two glasses sinking past the mound of macaroni in his gut. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?” The way Bill spoke made it clear that it was a request rather than a choice. 

Dipper tilted his head to the side like he was considering it. “Yeah, okay. But I’m sleeping in my old room and you’re going to stay in yours,” he stipulated. Even buzzed, Dipper knew when Bill was attempting to get into his pants. 

“Fine, whatever. At least let me help you to bed,” Bill offered, allowing Dipper to use his arm as a means of stabilizing himself. The blonde guided down the hallway, to a closed door that concealed a familiar space. It used to belong to Dipper - or… it still did? - either way, it was too confusing to get into the specifics when his judgement was fuzzy around the edges. The bed was the same as the day he left, corners tucked in, top of the duvet neatly drawn down into a folded rectangle. But Dipper barely noticed it because Bill was helping him sit on the end of the mattress and pulling at the boy’s shoes so he’d be more comfortable. 

Before he left, Bill rose up to ask if there was anything else Dipper needed, but the brunette had grabbed ahold of the tie around his neck and was pulling him downwards until he was on his knees and elbows on the mattress, hovering over his beautiful tree. 

“No sex,” Dipper murmured from beneath him, left hand rising to brush across Bill’s cheek and settle at the nape of his neck. “Not until I know you’re clean. But still I wanna kiss you.” Bill shuddered at those words and the hand that was now urging him downward. Their lips made contact, but Dipper kept his movements slow, devoid of the urgency present yesterday night, yet no less passionate in his intentions. The room quickly filled with the sounds of wet smacks as their lips met over and over again, parting for mere seconds before molding back together, soft sighs passing between them. 

The moment Bill tried to grind their crotches together, Dipper pushed him away, refusing to go any further tonight. Their mouths were kiss-swollen and slick, but that was the most either was going to get right now. Bill reluctantly yielded. It was like denying the temptation of dessert after dinner, but he forced himself to stand up and put some distance between them. 

Too bad he was unable to exhibit such restraint last weekend. 

“Good night, Bill,” Dipper muttered, slipping beneath the covers that cradled him like a warm cocoon. He regarded the man with tired eyes and a half-smile. 

“‘Night, Pine Tree.” 

* * *

The next morning, Dipper woke to a severe case of bedhead and two Advil waiting on the nightstand next to a water bottle. Bill must’ve left them sometime last night after he’d passed out because he never even heard him reenter the room. With a yawn, Dipper fished out his phone from the pocket of his jeans, finding several messages and a missed call from Mabel inquiring about his well-being. The thumping in his head reminded him why he didn’t do this often. Snagging the painkillers, Dipper downed them with a few gulps of water and then shot Mabel a quick text to let her know where he was and that Bill wasn’t holding him against his will or anything. She responded with a winking emoji and he reminded her that they weren’t sleeping together... not yet. 

He slumped back against the downy pillows, eyes slipping shut as he waited for the Advil to take effect. Thank god he didn’t work today and his first class wasn’t until two.

The second time Dipper woke, it was closing in on noon, bright sun rays filtering in through the cracks of the blinds on the window opposite the mattress. He decided to get up and wander down the hallway to use the bathroom and try to fix the abstract art piece his hair had become (though it wasn’t much use at this point). Eventually Dipper made it to the living room, where Bill was relaxing and using his laptop to surf the internet. 

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Good morning,” Dipper rasped, coming to sit beside him on the couch. He sank against the blonde, noting that he smelled like coffee as Bill’s arm settled over his shoulder and pulling him close. 

“What’re you researching?” The screen clearly stated his intentions, but Dipper asked anyway. 

“Addictions counselors,” Bill explained, using the browser’s back arrow to navigate away from a less than helpful website. “I also made an appointment this morning to get tested.” The sooner the results came back negative, the sooner they could be intimate again. “I’m going later today, so we should know by Monday or Tuesday.” Really, it sucked to even have to wait that long, but Dipper always aired on the side of caution while Bill was busy throwing it to the wind. 

“I really hope you’re negative, you dumbass.” Just imagining the profound repercussions of Bill’s careless actions made Dipper’s stomach twist with anxiety.

_ So do I, _Bill mused, but said nothing in response, setting aside the laptop to focus on the warm figure curled up next to him. “I missed you.” When the brunette didn’t reply, he leaned in for a kiss. Dipper realized he probably had terrible morning breath, so he tilted his cheek towards Bill, accepting a closed-mouth peck there instead. 

“There’s a Halloween party coming up next weekend,” Bill mentioned with a casual air. “I’m thinking of going, if you’ll come with me.”

“Of course,” Dipper agreed. Even if he wanted to refuse, he couldn’t - it would go against last night’s negotiations. And Bill, the king of demon deals, would never let him renege on his word. He met the pair of golden eyes, a small smile blossoming on his face. “It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The irony of Dipper telling Bill to do chores when I’m sitting here ignoring my own housework. Heh.
> 
> Enjoy the next few chapters because shit's gonna go down after that. There's a reason this fic is titled "Falling Apart."


	6. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started a new job - still not sure what my hours will be yet, but I’ll do my best to continue rolling out a new chapter every two weeks or so. Thanks for your patience and support!

“Hurry Dipper, my hands are slipping!” 

“Almost there, hang on!” Dipper’s head was craned at an awkward angle as he desperately tried to keep his footing. Traversing a flight of stairs backwards was no easy feat, but traversing a flight of stairs _ backwards _with a box weighing close to fifty pounds and a struggling sister urging him to pick up the pace was borderline impossible. 

One misstep and the whole thing would end in disaster.

Fortunately, they made it to the front door without incident and lugged the final box inside, letting it fall to the floor with overexerted grunts. Both slumped against the foyer wall as they tried to catch their breath. “Ugh, I think that one gave me a hernia,” Mabel groaned, rubbing her burning abdomen beneath the thick layer of wool and thanking God that the move was finally over with.

Dipper fished out his wallet and handed her a decent wad of cash, but she held up her hand to reject it. “I don’t want your money, Dipdop. Save it for when we have to pay back our student loans.” She picked a bit of lint from her sweater, trailing it with her eyes as it floated down to settle into the grooves between the tiles.

“Thanks for helping me move in here again. I really appreciate it.” It was just the siblings today; Bill picked up a Saturday shift and informed Dipper he’d be attending an AA meeting afterwards, and as much as the brunette wanted to tag along to make sure he didn’t head for the bar instead, Dipper stayed behind. It was the first step towards rebuilding trust, as fragile and thin as it was due to the poor judgement calls Bill made in the past.

“Well, you helped me when I got my place, so it’s the least I could do.” Mabel shrugged and picked at the dark purple polish that was chipped in jagged lines across her nails. They were in dire need of a repaint. “I hope it works out this time, ‘cause I’m rooting for you guys,” she smiled, looking up to meet his eyes, her own bearing a radiant positivity within them.

He hoped so too, but the thing about hope - it was easily dashed. He wanted to believe Bill would step up and straighten himself out, but bad habits were hard to break and they seemed to be what the man’s life revolved around lately. Whether or not Bill stepped up was yet to be seen.

Dipper walked further into the apartment, eager to derail that particular train of thought. “Let’s get Pickle set up.”

“Okie dokie,” she agreed, beginning to help her brother reconstruct the castle-sized cage while the Ringneck observed from his travel carrier. Between the two of them, the task was accomplished in under ten minutes. Dipper went about filling the food and water dishes while Mabel lined the bottom tray with fresh sheets of newspaper. 

“You can hang out here if you want,” Dipper suggested. The rest of his day was free and some time spent bonding with Mabel sounded nice for a change. 

“Thanks, but I can’t. I have to finish my media studies presentation, and then I’m meeting some friends for girl’s night.” Somehow Mabel managed to perfectly balance her work, classes, and social circle, while Dipper could hardly handle one of those most days, let alone all three. 

“Just be careful,” he said softly. Mabel may have been the older sibling, but their entire lives, Dipper felt personally responsible for looking after her and her wellbeing. He’d never forgive himself if anything ever happened to her. 

“Pssht, I’m always careful,” she winked, stealing a hug regardless. In a higher register, she then turned towards Pickle and cooed at him like a parent with a newborn. “Bye-bye my little chicken nugget! Aunty Mabel loves you!” Walking over to the couch, she retrieved her purse and slid her sunglasses on, resembling a Hollywood starlet in the oversized lenses. “Powerpoint awaits!” she gestured dramatically before bounding down the front stairs where her car sat waiting along the curb. 

Dipper waved her off and then turned his attention to the box orgy overtaking the living room. The sight of them all was intimidating, but unpacking went quickly. The bulk of the items were clothing, which would either need to be hung up, folded neatly into a drawer, or, if hopelessly wrinkled, thrown straight into the laundry basket. In just over two hours he’d ended up with a mass of flattened cardboard to deposit in the recycling bin outside later (after the soreness in his arms and legs subsided). Despite the fact that it was only early afternoon, he longed to remove his dirty clothes, grab a hot shower, and take a quick catnap.

The bathroom floor chilled his bare feet as he padded over to the shower/tub combo and tugged the curtain aside. While waiting for the water to heat up, he stripped down and grabbed a towel from the tall linen cabinet beside the sink. Dipper dialed the knob back to a comfortable temperature and stepped beneath the spray, eager to wash away the sweat and grime that had built up in layers.

It was only when he reached for a bottle that wasn’t there that he realized he forgot to bring his shampoo into the bathroom with him. Dipper was forced to steal some from a bottle in the caddy, squeezing a fair amount in his palm and running it through his soaked locks until it built into a lather. Bill wouldn’t care anyway - it wasn’t like they didn’t share things while living together before. He’d probably pick up on the scent of coconut and compliment Dipper on his choice of toiletries like the smug bastard he was.

He finished up quickly, twisting the knob until the stream slowed into a drip and he stepped out of the tub. Toweling himself off, Dipper noticed the apartment next door was deathly quiet. He wondered if the couple prone to domestic violence was still inhabiting the space beyond the adjoining wall or if the landlord finally grew some balls and evicted their asses. He’d ask Bill about that later - right now, his only concern was getting reacquainted with his mattress.

* * *

At some point, his eyes cracked open to find it was dark outside, but it didn’t quite register until a quick check of his phone showed it was almost five o’clock. With a mixture of shame and amusement, Dipper realized he’d neglected to set an alarm, and the twenty minute catnap evolved into a three hour coma. If he had to guess, Dipper estimated that Bill would get home around seven, which left him two hours to veg out and maybe do some channel surfing. 

He decided to find a snack before plopping down in front of the television. The fridge was devoid of produce, eggs, bottled water, and anything else that generally fell into the ‘healthy’ category. Grabbing a tupperware dish, Dipper turned his nose up when he realized it was some kind of meat giving way to a mold colony. There were two other containers shoved towards the back that were in a similar state. It reminded him of Stan’s refrigerator - with the rotting corn cob and expiring milk - which the twins made sure to throw away and replace with a fresh set of groceries before leaving Oregon.

He scraped the rotting food into the garbage, gagging slightly when the smell hit him and promptly washed the containers, (and his hands) once he was finished. The cabinets were in a similar state, with boxes of stale snacks left forgotten. Thankfully there was one bag of chips that was halfway decent, so he settled for those and planted himself in front of the TV for the next two hours. 

The time flew by and before he knew it, the sound of the front door unlocking signaled Bill’s return. Dipper muted the Friends marathon playing on TBS and padded across the floor in his bare feet to greet Bill now that he was back. 

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” Bill grinned, planting an enthusiastic kiss against Dipper’s mouth. No alcohol on his breath - a good sign.

“How did your meeting go?” 

“Pretty well, actually.” It had taken Bill a bit of searching to find a secular group located within a reasonable distance from the flat, but it was worth it to avoid the religious bullshit so many programs were centered around. “I like to think I’m making progress.” Bill shucked his coat and his gaze immediately fell on the structure in the corner and the brightly-colored creature within. “What is _ that? _ ” He walked up and peered inside, Pickle’s vibrant plumage standing out against the heather-gray blanket covering the back half of his cage. “You bought a _ bird? _” 

“He was cute and I fell in love.” Dipper’s careful choice of words left Bill envious of the fluffball. “His name’s Pickle - Mabel chose it.” She had actually dubbed him Lord Pickleton the First, Esquire, but it felt too goofy to say it out loud.

Two wide, dark eyes blinked at Bill from behind the metal bars. “Hi Pickle,” the tiny voice greeted his onlookers. 

“It talks?” Bill asked incredulously, turning to Dipper for confirmation to make sure he wasn’t going crazy. 

“Yeah. Indian Ringnecks are really smart. And they have a lifespan of 30 to 40 years, so you better get used to him. Isn’t that right, Pickle?” Dipper smiled, petting one of the bird’s scaly feet now that he was hanging on the front of the cage.

“Well, fuck.”

“Don’t curse around him.”

“_Fuckfuckfuckfuck_—”

“Bill!”

“Relax, kid. You’re so uptight.” Dipper pulled a bitch-face, appearing ready to argue, so Bill decided to stop him before he could say anything else. “Maybe this will loosen you up.” He handed him an already-opened envelope, looking pleased with himself. “Read it.”

Dipper grabbed the paper Bill was impatiently shoving towards him like a kid with a straight-A report card. “What is it?” 

“My test results.” 

Scanning over the columns indicating the various types of diseases Bill had been tested for, Dipper found that all of them contained the word ‘NEGATIVE’ in capital letters. 

“I’m clean.” 

“Thank _ Christ_,” Dipper exhaled. All of the tension he didn’t realize had settled into his shoulders disappeared and he pulled Bill into a hug. 

“You know what that means.” Bill grinned, words full of sexual implications. It was clear he’d been thinking about this all day, but Dipper was in one of his moods and was having none of it.

“It means that you’re going to rub my feet after dinner,” the brunette stated, half-sarcastic, half-serious, shutting down Bill’s advances by wandering over to the kitchen drawer that contained a collection of take-out menus. “I feel like having Chinese tonight - what do you think?” 

What Bill was thinking didn’t relate to dinner at all, but rather that feet weren’t exactly what he was wanting to rub. Though at this point, any physical contact with Pine Tree was welcome. 

“Chinese sounds great.”

* * *

Pickle warbled in the living room as Bill and Dipper got ready for the party the following evening. The younger was starting to regret his choice to go, since whatever idiot hosting the party decided it should be held Sunday night instead of Saturday. It would eat into his prep time for an 8am chem exam on Monday, all for the stupid reason that today was October 31st. 

“This’ll be fun,” Bill laughed, the vibrations earning him a reprimand from Dipper who ordered him to sit still. “Don’t you think?” 

“I think if you keep moving,” Dipper began slowly, “I’m going to draw a dick on your forehead with this eyeliner.” Seeing how giddy Bill was, he did his best to convince himself it wouldn’t be so terrible and that he needed to stop being so closed-minded when it came to any kind of social event. After all, compromise was key to making things work this time. 

The initial (_cliché_) idea to attend as an angel and a demon was scrapped in favor of 1980’s glam rockers (a la Mötley Crüe), mainly because Dipper would find any excuse he could to get Bill to wear eyeliner and tight leather pants. By far, the most ridiculous aspect of their getups were the wigs, which resembled unruly lions manes that trailed halfway down their backs. Bill’s was blonde, while Dipper’s was jet black, both fastened with a careful arrangement of bobby pins to keep from sliding off. 

“I’m glad you agreed to come along,” Bill hummed, absentmindedly rubbing a hand over his face to take care of an itch, which caused the makeup to smear. 

“Dammit Bill!”

“Shit, sorry.” Once Dipper had thoroughly anointed his face with blush and eyeliner (_again_), he checked over his appearance in the mirror and gave an approving laugh.

“Don’t touch it,” Dipper warned, turning from Bill to focus on himself. He learned quickly that doing his own makeup was a lot more challenging than putting on someone else’s. Dipper uncapped the red lipstick and applied it - badly. Wiping it off, he tried again. Mabel could do it with her eyes closed - why was this so difficult? 

“Give it here.” Bill motioned for the tube and spun Dipper away from the mirror. His movements were confident which meant the lipstick actually ended up on Dipper’s lips this time instead of streaked across his cheeks and chin Joker-style. 

“Should I be concerned that you know how to apply makeup so well?”

“I’m secretly a drag queen. Better call RuPaul,” Bill teased, stepping back and inspecting his work. “Not bad. You know, the androgynous look _ really _suits you.”

Dipper flushed slightly, which was hard to distinguish from the powdered blush already coating his cheeks, and Bill leaned in for a kiss, only to be met with a hand to the chest. “No you don’t. I’m not going to apply your makeup a third time. Go get dressed.” He patted Bill’s shoulder, encouraging him to let up so Dipper could also change into his costume. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled on a pair of knee-high leather boots with chunky heels. At first, Dipper stumbled through the room with all the grace of a newborn fawn, catching himself on his dresser as he nearly sailed headfirst into the wall. It was tricky trying to gain his balance, but he quickly started to get the hang of it.

He waited in the hallway until the blonde emerged from his own room, turning in a circle as he showed himself off. “Well, do I look great or what?” 

In that moment, Dipper’s brain immediately forgot how to do anything aside from drool over Bill. “I...uh…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“_Fuck yes_,” Dipper corrected, a little more breathless than he’d intended.

* * *

The party was being hosted in an old Victorian home in San Francisco, not too far from the city’s renowned Painted Ladies. This was highly unexpected, given that they were driving through an area where million-dollar homes were the norm and tourists flocked to marvel at real estate they’d never be able to afford. Dipper wasn’t sure who the place belonged to, but the structure appeared well-preserved considering it had to be over a century old. The dusty pink exterior was complete with a bracketed portico and protruding bay windows, both of which were original to the build, patches of ivy trailing upwards on the side of the house. This was hardly the typical setting for a college party, which made Dipper wonder why it was being held here, at an elegant home in an upscale neighborhood. 

The front door was thrown wide open, music and voices spilling out into the street. Bill was eager to enter, but Dipper was clearly more interested in the house’s architecture than the happenings within. 

“Are you coming, or did you wanna gawk at the gables some more?”

Dipper shot Bill a pissy look but followed behind him anyway, since the cold air was seeping through the thin fabric covering his torso by this point. Even inside, he couldn’t help but admire the great deal of intricacy of the grand mahogany archways and damascene wallpaper. The home’s furnishings were mostly kept to the era it was constructed, aside from a flat screen TV that had been mounted over a fireplace in the adjoining room. 

The lower level of the house was festooned with tacky decorations, yet each and every one paled in comparison when it came to the real-life horrors he and Mabel faced during their time in Gravity Falls. They were also child’s play for Bill, who’d once been able to summon abominations straight out of mankind’s worst nightmares.

Many of the guests were already heavily intoxicated, raucous laughter and yelling filling the air. It wasn’t a surprise that alcohol was flowing freely and there were hordes of slutty sophomores to contend with, but Dipper was confident in his ability to deal with both of those obstacles as they arose. He noticed a buffet-style table had been set up in the entryway with a wide variety of items to choose from, purposely avoiding the punch because it was most definitely spiked. Instead, he picked up a cupcake with fondant ‘skin’ meant to look like it was decomposing and took a bite. The food was decidedly subpar but that was to be expected at events such as these, since filling up on mediocre appetizers wasn’t the reason people attended. Listening in on a nearby conversation, Dipper gathered that this place belonged to the nephew of a rich couple who - _ surprise _\- were currently on holiday in Italy and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks. 

“Are you like, vampires or something?” Dipper turned to see a petite blonde in some kind of slutty nurse outfit - a piss-poor excuse for a costume unless she was planning to star in a low-budget porno. The tight latex accentuated the curvature of her… assets. 

This didn’t go unnoticed by Dipper, who latched onto Bill like a mosquito drawn to its host’s blood. Bill couldn’t help but laugh; jealousy brought out the boy’s possessive side, and honestly it was _ delicious_. “Actually we’re—”

“Yeah, something like that,” Bill replied, still snickering at the way Dipper had reacted.

“Oh cool, vamps are _ totally hot_,” she giggled. “You guys wanna go upstairs?” The girl’s overt flirtation was unwanted, and Dipper was going to make sure she knew it. 

“My boyfriend and I aren’t interested,” Dipper replied in a thorny voice, driving home the word ‘boyfriend’ with slap to Bill’s ass, for no other reason than to make a point. The blonde jumped a little from the unexpected contact, but growled appreciatively when Dipper followed it up with a squeeze. The kid wasn’t just jealous, he was downright _ territorial_. 

“But I just—” 

“Sorry honey, not looking for a threesome tonight,” Bill interrupted, even though the concept of multiple partners was something he had explored in the past. 

“You guys suck.” Pushing past them, she went to seek out someone else to proposition.

After the girl left, Bill turned to Dipper, amusement painting his features. “Don’t say it,” Dipper said tersely, knowing exactly what the look Bill was giving him meant. “Let’s go do… something,” he suggested, trying to think of anything that didn’t involve drinking, even though that was the main purpose of these sorts of parties. 

Sure enough, red Solo cups - the hallmark of any halfway decent college party - were literally everywhere throughout the house, not just in the dining room where an intense game of beer pong was taking place. Coming here might’ve been a mistake, Bill admitted, given that his meetings always stressed the importance of avoiding substances that could trigger a relapse, and here he was, standing in the fucking capital of bad ideas. Willpower alone would never be enough to drown his desires for booze; he needed a distraction. 

An open doorway in the kitchen led to a semi-renovated basement where the party spilled into. The blaring music and mass of writhing bodies made it feel more like a trashy nightclub than someone’s personal residence.

“Come on, dance with me,” Bill insisted, tugging at Dipper’s hand until the younger had no choice but to oblige. They blended effortlessly into the crowd, Bill’s hands sliding downwards and turning Dipper around so that his back was to Bill’s front. The blonde’s fingertips dipped below the hem of his pants, not quite delving inside just yet. “Having fun?” he asked, draping his body over Dipper’s like the haze that hung in the near-darkness. 

The smoky atmosphere was due to a group of partygoers getting baked on the other side of the massive basement. Dipper silently wondered if it was possible to get high from the secondhand smoke, or if the cause of his lightheadedness was entirely sexual. “Mm, maybe,” he smirked, reluctant to admit that he was beginning to enjoy himself. 

Bill held a firm grip on his hipbones, pressing up against him as they swayed from side to side. “I’m glad,” he rasped into the brunette’s ear, lips trailing downward to nip at his neck. 

Dipper arched back against him, their bodies fitting together perfectly. Trying to focus on the beat of the music was difficult; he could only feel the way Bill was guiding their hips and the fingertips breaching the material around his waist. Emboldened by the idea of anonymity, he placed his hands on top of Bill’s and slowly ground his ass back against his crotch, intensifying the delicious friction. The set of teeth on his neck encouraged Dipper to move quicker, harder to the tempo as his eyes closed and his head fell back against Bill’s chest. 

He was _ definitely _ having fun. 

The brunette’s lips parted slightly and his breath was starting to become uneven with the physical tension overtaking their bodies. The ‘dance’ was extremely sexual in nature - Dipper could feel a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks from the thought that they were being ogled by the other partygoers, but also from the intense heat radiating off of Bill. Both observations were equally devastating to his self-restraint. Any other time, he would have protested, not one to make a scene, but it wasn’t like anyone was going to recognize either of them looking like this, so he threw out whatever inhibitions lingered and let his body do the talking. 

“That’s it, sweetie, let go.” At Bill’s encouraging, Dipper craned his head back, bringing their mouths together in a provocative kiss, teeth and tongues clashing with sloppy abandon. It had been so, _ so _long since they’d last been intimate, and now they were moving in such a way that they might as well be having sex. Bill’s manhood was reacting to every movement, the rocking friction turning him on beyond belief. He pressed impossibly tighter against Dipper, allowing him to feel exactly what the brunette’s body was doing to him.

“Bill...” Dipper gasped the moment his boyfriend’s hand plunged beneath the waistband to cup his erection. He never felt this hot and bothered before, especially in front of so many people. His body felt like it was on fire, heart drumming inside of his ribcage with the filthy words and sinful touches Bill was taunting him with. 

“Do you like this, Pine Tree? Having an audience?” Dipper’s skin prickled with excitement; Bill had just discovered a new kink. “What if I fucked you in front of all these people?” the low voice at his ear elicited a full-body shiver from the man in front of him. “Let them hear how pretty you sound when you come around my cock. Do you want that?” 

He didn’t need to reply - Bill already knew the answer. Dipper’s mocha eyes fell on the slutty nurse from earlier and he couldn’t help the smugness seeping onto his face. The knowledge that Bill wanted _ him _\- not that scantily-clad bimbo - did wonders to assuage his doubt. He turned around to face the older man, giving him an open mouthed kiss before slowly sliding down his body. Once on his knees, Dipper stared up at Bill with lust-glazed eyes and determination, tearing off the man’s belt and working on his tight pants. He managed to get them open just enough to reveal Bill’s rock-hard cock and took it into his mouth without a second thought. 

“Look at you,” Bill moaned, words underlined with a wrecked husk. Sex with other people was good, but nowhere near this - not when Dipper knew all of the little tricks that made him light up like a supernova before its imminent explosion. “My little cockslut.” 

Staring into Bill’s eyes, Dipper flicked his tongue over the sensitive slit and tasted the beginnings of pre-cum, moaning softly at the bitter taste. He hollowed his cheeks as he went down on him, teasing the underside of his length. Dipper bobbed his head up and down with the beat of the song playing in the background, hand wrapping around the base and squeezing firmly as he sucked the blonde off.

Bill tried to keep his eyes open to watch his saliva-slick cock as it disappeared into the boy’s hot, wet mouth, but it was becoming difficult to focus as his pleasure built. Unable to hold back anymore, he slammed his hips forward, forcing himself down Dipper’s throat without pretense, leaving him gasping when he pulled back, wet strands connecting his mouth with the tip of his dick. 

Pulling himself to his feet, Dipper stood at eye-level with Bill, bringing one hand up to his mouth to coat his palm with the saliva and pre-cum lingering on his tongue. “Fuck my fist,” he teased, whispering in his ear as he formed a tight channel for Bill to thrust into. “Imagine you’re inside of me.” 

His body was already reeling, but Bill completely lost it hearing those words. Sharp nails dug into his lover’s neck, pressure increasing the closer he came to orgasm. A (literal) handful of thrusts later, Bill couldn’t hold on anymore. “Gonna come...” His eyes slid shut, arching into Dipper’s hand as he throbbed and spilled over the digits stroking him to completion. Dipper moaned softly as Bill’s hot seed coated his skin, gold eyes watching intently as Dipper licked his fingers clean. He looked absolutely indecent, tongue darting out past the smeared and faded lipstick with every movement. 

Grabbing his hand, Bill dragged Dipper away from the crowd and over to an unoccupied space near the stoners. Throwing him down against the vintage camelback sofa, he yanked Dipper’s pants down and went to work, returning the favor with utter enthusiasm.

* * *

By the time they returned home, makeup ruined and blissed out, it was almost eleven o’clock, which left… maybe an hour and a half to review if Dipper was lucky.

“Help me study.”

“But I’m tired,” Bill protested, a slight whine to his voice. For a former demon, he acted like such a little kid sometimes. 

“I went to your shitty party,” Dipper said pointedly. “_And _I sucked your dick. You owe me one.”

“Ugh fine,” Bill conceded, waving him off dismissively. “Just let me get settled first.” He stripped off the boots and wig, then moved into the kitchen to pour himself a drink. “I sucked yours too, you know!” he yelled from the other room, slamming the fridge door shut behind him. 

Dipper had every intention of responding with a witty remark, but instead did a double take upon seeing what the other was holding. “What the _ fuck_, Bill?”

“Relax, it’s just cranberry juice.”

“Then why is it in a _ wine _glass?”

“Psychological trick,” he replied simply. The narrow squint of Dipper’s eyes told Bill he wasn’t buying it. “Here,” he insisted, passing the drink to the brunette, “taste it if you don’t believe me.”

A cautious sip confirmed it was not wine as he’d initially thought. “You’re lucky.” Dipper went to retrieve some study materials from his room, reappearing a moment later and handing a stack of notecards to Bill. “Quiz me.”

Bill took a seat on the floor, bending one leg at the knee while the other remained stretched flat across the cream colored carpet. He held the glass in his left hand and a stack of notecards in the right. “First question: ‘On a very cold day, you notice that your tires look a bit deflated than warmer days. This observation can be explained by…?’”

Dipper snapped his eyes shut for two seconds as he willed the answer to come to him. “Boyle’s Law,” he said, a waver alluding to his uncertainty.

“Wrong.”

“Shit. What was the answer?”

Bill reversed the card he was holding, reading over Dipper’s neat handwriting etched on the back. “Charles’s Law,” he replied, swirling the scarlet fluid around his glass out of habit before taking a drink. “‘In liquid methanol, CH3OH which intermolecular forces are present?’”

“Dispersion and... hydrogen bonding.”

“And?” Bill trailed off expectantly. 

“There’s more?”

“Yep.”

After a solid three minutes of thinking, the answer wasn’t coming to Dipper and Bill became impatient. “‘Dipole-dipole forces’, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Ugh, I should’ve gotten that!“ Dipper groaned, hand landing on his forehead, a gesture akin to facepalming. “Just… read the next card.”

“‘Which law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of a perfectly ordered, crystalline substance is zero at 0 Kelvin?’”

“The second,” Dipper replied with more confidence - he _ knew _this one. “It’s definitely the second.”

Bill imitated a buzzer sound. “Nope. It’s the third.”

“Fuck,” Dipper cursed. There was no way he was going to earn anything greater than a ‘D’ tomorrow. 

“I’ve got an idea.” 

Those four words coming out of Bill’s mouth were usually never a good thing, but Dipper decided to entertain them anyway. “Dare I ask?”

“Strip studying.”

“What?”

“Y’know, like strip poker? Every question you get right, I remove an article of clothing. Whaddya say?”

Dipper swallowed thickly. It was definitely an enticing (if not slightly distracting) incentive. “I’ll try anything at this point,” he shrugged, the idea of a naked Bill spurring his interest to commit the concepts to memory.

* * *

“Entropy?” 

“Wrong… again.” By now it was going on 1am, and the only clothing Bill had shed was his belt and a single sock. With a yawn, he handed the notecards to Dipper, who was a lost cause when it came to thermodynamics and whatever else those questions involved. “I’m gonna go fall into bed.” He stood and placed his empty glass in the sink, returning to give Dipper a kiss on the cheek and ruffle his hair. “Good luck tomorrow - you’re going to need it.”

Feeling defeated, Dipper retreated to his room and plunked down at his desk, calculating the lowest score he could earn while still passing the test. An 88 at least - the odds weren’t exactly stacked in his favor. 

The easy option here was to blame Bill - it was his stupid idea to waste a perfectly good night Dipper could’ve used to study - but in reality he should’ve prepared more, considering the week’s notice Professor Reeves gave the class. With resolute determination, Dipper cracked open his Chem 1B textbook and threw himself into his studies until his eyes started to burn and he couldn’t hold them open any longer. 

* * *

Dipper woke with a start, finding that he was still crouched over his textbooks, having never made it into bed last night. “Great,” he huffed, running a hand across his face when he noticed the time; there was barely enough to throw on a hoodie and jeans (going on their fourth straight use). He needed to be in his car five minutes ago if there was any hope of avoiding the early morning traffic build up. 

The state of the highway was just as bad as it always was, but he made it to the lecture hall with only moments to spare, taking a seat near the back and pulling out the same notecards Bill quizzed him with the previous evening. He did his best to cram the information into his brain, but as the professor greeted the class and began distributing the test, it felt like it was leaking out in waves. He looked at the first page of questions, hope fading faster the further down he glanced. 

Fidgeting in his chair, Dipper’s eyes darted from the professor to the student in front of him. He could clearly make out the answers she was filling in, and a cursory glimpse told him that she’d done far more studying than he had. Dipper played with his pencil for several minutes, running the eraser across his lower lip as he pondered what to do. Cheating was never permissible and it was always a risky endeavor, but earning a failing grade in this class would pull his GPA down to a 3.0, and that knowledge pushed him over a line he never expected to cross.

Uncertainty set a slight tremble into his hand as his eyes flicked from the teacher to his classmate’s test, making the decision to copy her answers. Professor Reeves was seated behind the desk, eyes trained on a MacBook as he answered emails, disinterested in the happenings of his surroundings. Dipper took the opportunity and ran like hell with it, circling the final few answers. He also purposely picked a few incorrect ones so his responses wouldn’t be identical to hers and raise suspicion. While he felt bad having to resort to such methods, he _ really _needed to ace this thing. Besides, one test wouldn’t matter down the road when he was successfully established in his career.

Dipper waited a little while before turning in his exam and heading back to his car, the butterflies in his gut stilling now that it was over and done with. His phone lit up - a text from Bill asking how it went. Instead of typing a reply, Dipper called his cell, the line trilling only once before the blonde picked up. 

“Hey, hot stuff.”

“I... I did something I’m not proud of.” His throat felt dry just admitting it, and Bill picked up on the shakiness in his voice. 

“Like what?” Dipper could hear music playing in the background while Bill moved around the apartment, getting ready for another day of serving people who insisted on behaving like entitled assholes.

“I cheated.” 

Almost immediately, the line went silent. Dipper had to check to make sure he hadn’t lost the connection. “Bill?”

“With who?” he snapped, veins flooding with sharp vitriol at the thought of Dipper tangled up with another, feeling like he was prepared to skin someone alive or snap their spine in two. 

“What?” It took Dipper a second before Bill’s question clicked. “No, not like _ that _ \- I cheated on my _ test _this morning.”

Oh. 

_ Ohhhhhh. _

“I thought you meant…” Well now he felt like an idiot for getting so worked up over nothing.

Dipper exhaled sharply, offended that he even entertained the thought. “I’m not like you, Bill. I don’t just fall into bed with anyone that crosses my path.” There was silence on the other end of the line. “Hurts thinking about the person you love with someone else, doesn’t it?” Unfortunately, those words were based on prior experience. 

The urge to tell Dipper that he’d slept with his boss was rising in the back of his throat, threatening to choke him if he didn’t spill the beans. He started to say something, but then Dipper was speaking again, oblivious to Bill’s almost-confession. 

“I’m gonna go now. I’ll see you tonight,” Dipper said, effectively putting an end to the conversation. “Love you.”

“I love you too,” the words fell out of Bill’s mouth easily, but damn if they weren’t the hardest thing to say without that motherfucking guilt nagging at him again. He swallowed it down as the call between them was disconnected and went back to what he was doing prior, content to act like there was nothing wrong at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I’m not too happy with this chapter :/ I’ll try to do better with the next one.


	7. Playtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8,000+ words of filth. You’re welcome.
> 
> Consider this my submission for the rest of Kinktober ;) 
> 
> WARNING FOR HEAVY BDSM CONTENT including but not limited to: riding crops, hitting/slapping, restraints, edging, degrading name calling/insults, public teasing, sex toys, and master/slave dynamics.
> 
> Possibly out of character, possibly not - all I know is the world needs more bottom!Bill.

“Are you coming to mom and dad's for Thanksgiving?” 

“Yeah, Bill and I will be there, just like last year,” Dipper spoke into the phone as he perused the aisles of a sex shop, attempting to maintain a casual conversation with his twin sister. Normally Dipper would’ve steered clear of these kinds of stores, but ever since he’d sucked Bill off at the Halloween party last weekend, he struggled to focus on anything else than the feeling of the man’s flesh beneath his fingertips. 

“Cool. I'm thinking about making pumpkin pie egg rolls again,” Mabel continued, “and maybe some candied yams. Unless that’s too much sweet stuff... maybe I’ll do the egg rolls and green bean casserole instead... what do you think?”

What he _ thought _was this definitely wasn't the type of conversation he pictured having in an adult entertainment store. Thanksgiving was still two weeks away, but Mabel was already planning out the finer details of the holiday with her usual over-the-top excitement.

“I’m sure whatever you make will be, uh, great...” Dipper muttered distractedly, a particular toy catching his attention. He reached for it, flipping the box over to gather more information on how it worked while Mabel chatted away in his ear. 

_ ‘SIMULTANEOUSLY MASSAGES THE PROSTATE AND PERINEUM FOR MAXIMUM ORGASMIC PLEASURE’ _

It felt wrong to be reading something so dirty. His sister was obliviously discussing side dishes for the holiday meal while he tried to determine which product would be the most effective at bringing Bill to his knees.

Definitely not one of his prouder moments. 

“Hey, I gotta go - I’m in line at the... grocery store,” he fibbed, eyes drawn to a display of toys designed specifically for impact play. 

“Okay, I’ll catch you later Dippy eggs.”

He ended the call, thankful that he managed to think on his feet so he didn’t have to disclose that he was actually purchasing BDSM supplies to use on Bill this weekend. Seventy dollars was more than Dipper initially expected to spend on something like this, but he threw the prostate massager into his shopping basket anyway and continued browsing. Prior to this trip, he’d done an extensive amount of research into the finer aspects of sadomasochism. If Mabel thought his internet history was scary when they were twelve, he’d hate to see her reaction if she stumbled across it now.

Satisfied with the items he picked out, Dipper made his way to the counter to pay and get out of here before he felt like even more of a pervert than he already did.

Still, he couldn’t hide the amusement bubbling its way to the surface. Bill didn’t know it yet, but he was in for quite the surprise tomorrow. 

* * *

Saturday was one of those rare occasions where both Bill and Dipper had the day off. Such perfect coordination didn’t happen often, so the brunette was determined to take advantage of their time together. 

Despite all of the BDSM articles and forums he’d scoured, Dipper’s hesitancy hid just beneath the confident mask he touted. Breaking Bill Cipher would be a monumental feat; he’d have to start slow, work his way into it. Even then, there were no guarantees that he’d ever get underneath Bill’s skin, but he was damn well going to try. 

Before Bill was even awake, Dipper got a head start on breakfast. He moved around the kitchen, gathering supplies and brewing their preferred brand of coffee. When Bill appeared in the doorway looking absolutely bedraggled, Dipper was already halfway through cooking a batch of pancakes.

“You’re up early.”

“I’m always up early,” Dipper replied sarcastically, flipping one of the pancakes over to reveal the perfectly golden surface and looked over his shoulder at his boyfriend with a smile. Morning classes forced him to be an early bird even though he was normally a night owl, but he always slept in on his days off, which Bill found the least bit strange. He didn’t think much more of it though, since he was still half-asleep and logical reasoning was impossible at this hour. 

When the food was ready, they sat down at the dining table, Dipper’s chair pulled tight up against Bill’s in an outright violation of personal space. The blonde felt a hand sliding across his thigh as he cut into the stack of fluffy goodness, pausing to glance at Dipper questioningly. 

“Can I eat or did you have something else in mind for the main course?” he teased, honestly satisfied with either option. The fact that Dipper was extra touchy-feely this morning did not go unnoticed. He silently wondered what had gotten into him, but didn’t bother to question it. It wasn’t like Dipper never initiated before, but most of the time Bill laid the groundwork for sex and the younger just went along with it. He certainly didn’t mind a change of pace, though he had no idea that today the tables would be turned against him. 

* * *

Around noon, Dipper mentioned that he wanted to take Bill somewhere (intentionally leaving the destination vague) and instructed him to use the bathroom before they left the house. He double checked that all of his new purchases were tucked away and placed the duffle bag containing them in the back of the car.

Bill slid into the passenger seat, looking suspiciously from the bag - which was normally reserved for the gym - back to Dipper. “Where are we going, exactly?” 

“I can’t tell you.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s a surprise,” Dipper winked, starting the car with a knowing grin that may have unsettled Bill the tiniest bit. He navigated the sedan downtown until his phone’s GPS alerted him that their destination was approaching on the left-hand side. 

Minutes later, they arrived at a building that looked like a typical hotel, which wasn’t far from the truth except for one important difference: the owners had taken the liberty of converting the rooms into miniature sex dungeons and rented them out for $100 an hour. Pricey yet convenient since the place was already fashioned with all of the proper hardware for an intense BDSM session: Saint Andrew’s crosses, hooks for ceiling suspension, and a variety of other bondage furniture their own apartment gravely lacked.

Upon entering the lobby, Dipper greeted a woman behind the front desk, providing his name so she could pull up his reservation. After the information was verified, she handed over a key card and wished them well. 

Bill still wasn’t sure why Pine Tree had dragged him to this place, which, to his unassuming eyes, was a normal hotel a few miles from their house. However, the second they stepped into one of the rooms, it immediately clicked - he was met with the sight of leather and metal and all sorts of fetish gear hanging from the walls that looked like it came straight out of a hardcore porn scene. “Shit, we’re doing this _ now?”_ Dipper hadn’t given him any warnings so he could prepare for this (although maybe that was a good thing given his initial apprehension) because it meant that he didn’t have a chance to shrink into his own headspace and freak out over it. 

“Strip,” Dipper ordered simply, ignoring the question and walking over to the door to secure the locks while Bill shed his clothing. Once that was done, he instructed Bill to wait while he changed in the attached bathroom, reappearing moments later in a _ much _different outfit. 

“Are those my…?” 

“Leather pants from Halloween? Yep.”

The kid actually pulled them off quite well... Bill’s gaze was immediately drawn to the set of hip bones protruding from the hem of the pants riding low on Dipper’s waist, rising back up to the leather harness crossing his chest. 

He really went all out with this.

“Before we start, we need to set boundaries. Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with?”

Bill shrugged, inspecting the setup with the slightest amount of hesitation. The whole thing unnerved him, but he was willing to give it a try for Dipper’s sake. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he said, “Unless it involves spiders or shit, I’m in.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about either of those things,” Dipper reassured him calmly. Bill’s veiled attempt at humor didn’t fool him in the least; Dipper knew the man well enough to tell when he was nervous. “Next, we’ll need a safeword.” 

“Hmm… Grunkle?” 

“Ugh no, we are _ not _using that.” He’d asked for a safeword, not a boner killer. “How about...” he glanced down at the tattoo on his forearm depicting Bill in his prior form, “...triangle?”

“I like Grunkle better, but whatever,” Bill shrugged, “Triangle it is.” 

“If you’re ready, we’ll begin,” Dipper said, waiting until Bill gave a consenting nod before taking one of his wrists and locking it into the first restraint, then moving on to the other. Another set snapped shut around his ankles, the chains greatly reducing his mobility. He remained standing, arms and legs spread slightly away from his body in an ‘x’ formation. 

Dipper left him alone for a moment as he gathered some supplies from a corner of the room Bill couldn’t see, returning shortly after with a riding crop. He carefully hit the flattened tip against his palm as he circled Bill, trying to appear predatory and imposing. “What are you going to call me?”

“Pine Tree.”

“Don’t think so,” Dipper said, sliding the crop across Bill’s chest as he continued to slowly circle the man. 

“Mason?” he tried, using Dipper’s real name this time.

As pleasant as it sounded rolling off the blonde’s tongue, the answer was wrong yet again. “Not the ‘M’ word I’m looking for, Bill.” He paused in his stride to stand face-to-face with the blonde, a smirk playing across his features. 

Bill’s golden eyes narrowed the moment he realized what Dipper was referring to. “I’m _ not _calling you that,” he objected, looking terribly offended at the mere idea of it. The awkward virgin that he’d personally broken was now demanding he refer to him as Master. 

There was no way in hell he was going to stoop to that level of degradation.

Dipper’s fingers captured Bill’s jaw, holding him in place as a means of asserting his newfound dominance. “You _ will _obey my orders.” Their eyes met in the tense moments that followed, a heated staring contest neither was willing to back down from. 

Eventually, Bill’s lips turned upwards at the edges, a smile that could only be defined as sinister. “Why don’t you make me, _ Pine Tree?” _

This earned him a sharp slap across the face, no holds barred on Dipper’s behalf. Stinging tingles traveled straight to Bill’s groin, bringing his already half-hard cock to full attention. Apparently he didn’t need to coax Dipper’s deeply concealed kinky side to the surface this time - he was doing a fine job revealing it himself. The boy’s innocent, doe-eyed act might’ve fooled everyone else, but Bill knew the kid was hardly as vanilla as outer appearances would lead one to believe. 

The sudden change in Dipper was intoxicating and he wanted more. “Is that it? You hit like a pussy,” he sneered. Naturally, Bill made a bratty sub, determined to act as disobedient as possible. 

“Stop being an asshole.” 

“Come on, you can do a better job of insulting me than _ that _,” he laughed. 

Bill was egging him on now and it was definitely working. Dipper moved behind him, biting out “disrespectful little cunt”, the riding crop landing square on his ass and leaving a red patch in its wake. 

“_Fuck yes_,” Bill hissed, back arching uncontrollably from the harsh contact and the boy’s excellent choice of words. “_More_.”

Dipper recoiled a bit, unsure which of them actually had the upper hand. Doubling down, he gathered his confidence and slipped back into his role. “Dirty slut.” Another snap of the crop had Bill lurching forward with a pained cry and Dipper began to retreat into a state of concern, ready to implement their safeword when the blonde’s coaxing brought him right back to their game. 

“Hit me again, Pine Tree,” he urged darkly, voice lowering to a deeper register that sounded almost demonic. “_Bruise me._”

In response, Dipper circled back around Bill to look him square in the face. “No. You’re not going to tell me what to do - _ I’m _the one in control here.”

Bill grinned, the sharp points of his teeth strikingly visible in the low light. “Oh, _ are _you?” 

This whole power-struggle thing was bringing out a more depraved side of Bill that Dipper hadn’t seen much of since he’d assumed his new form. He quickly gathered that Bill was a slut for punishment, so rather than giving him what he wanted, Dipper decided to put him in his place. “You know, I could just leave you here and come back in an hour or two.” He raised an eyebrow challengingly and began backing towards the door. 

“Fuck you,” Bill spat, the words catching slightly in his throat. 

Taming a former dream demon was a task and a half to begin with, even more so given Bill’s reluctance to relinquish control. Dipper crept towards the door, slow enough to give Bill a chance to change his mind. 

“Mason Alexander Pines, don’t you _fucking dare_. I’ll murder you if you move another inch.”

Dipper left despite Bill’s constant threats, shutting the door firmly behind him so the other man knew he meant business. He waited in the hallway for a good ten minutes, greeting a threesome that passed by: two women and a man being led to their suite with a leash and collar around his neck.

Now _ there _was an idea. 

When he felt that enough time had elapsed, Dipper returned but was immediately met with a verbal assault starting off with “you motherfucker”, after which point he tuned Bill out, making his way over to the duffle bag full of goodies. 

The first step was getting Bill to shut up long enough, and Dipper knew just the thing to achieve that. He grinned to himself, retrieving an O-ring gag and fastening the leather strap at the back of Bill’s head, leaving his mouth gaping and unable to properly articulate the insults he was fond of lately. 

Taking a step back, he admired the results, gently caressing the side of Bill’s face. “I don’t think you understood me the first time, Cipher,” he said cooly - almost eerily so - “You’re mine tonight. That means _ I _decide what I want to do with you. And right now...” he whispered, fingers deftly pulling at the zipper of his pants, “I’m going to put your dirty mouth to good use.” A bit more sternly, he added, “and if you try to bite my dick, I’ll leave you here for the rest of the night and you can find your own way home.” 

Bill never expected the kid to show dominance like this, but he’d be a filthy liar to say it wasn’t turning him on beyond belief. 

Dipper forced him to bend at the waist and pushed into the incredible heat of his mouth, effectively gagging him a second time. A moan escaped, uninhibited from the brunette as he began to mercilessly facefuck the man. ”That’s better,” he huffed, watching his cock disappear past Bill’s lips time and time again, satisfied with the knowledge that there wasn’t much the other could do but stand there and take it. “Your mouth is much nicer when there’s something inside of it.” He pulled out completely before slamming back in, purposely trying to make Bill choke. “So wet and perfect.” Dipper groaned as he repeated the process, dark eyes gleaming with lust between Bill’s throaty moans and the occasional gag. Saliva pooled around Bill’s tongue, slick trails leaking past the curved metal that forced his mouth wide open. He drooled around Dipper’s cock which threatened to cut off his airway completely. 

They should’ve done this _ years _ago. 

Dipper finally released the gag, allowing Bill to draw in several uneven breaths before he shoved two fingers in the blonde’s mouth, pressing down against his tongue. Bill continued to fight him, biting down around Dipper’s fingers painfully enough to make the other yelp slightly and withdraw. Cursing, the brunette yanked the digits out and slapped Bill across the face for his insolence. “What did I tell you about biting?” 

“You said your dick, not your fingers,” Bill smirked mischievously.

“Smartass,” Dipper snapped, gripping the blonde’s testicles and applying just enough pressure for the right mix of pleasure-pain. “I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

He wanted to bite out a remark, but it was difficult to protest when Dipper quite literally had him by the balls.

The brunette situated himself behind Bill, kneeling on the floor and running his hands over the expanse of skin, paying careful attention to the areas that caused the man’s body to shudder. At one point, Bill made the mistake of looking over his shoulder to see Dipper on his knees behind him, the sight of which caused a slideshow of scenarios to play out in his mind and his hips to jerk forward, heat pooling in his groin.

The click of a container being uncapped signaled penetration and he drew in a shaky breath. Two fingers brushed down past Bill’s balls and back up to his entrance, swirling around before Dipper slowly pushed one in. “Look at you,” the brunette marveled, reveling in the broken gasps it produced. 

The once-powerful Bill Cipher was now at the mercy of his fingertips. 

He slipped the first digit out, adding a second as he slowly reentered. The burn made Bill shift suddenly, writhing against his bonds like he was desperate to escape. “Are you okay?” Dipper quickly began to retreat back into his usual concerned nature once more until Bill’s breathy laugh snapped through the air, his head thrown towards the ceiling. 

“Feels so fucking weird,” he replied, and Dipper was prepared to back off if Bill became too uncomfortable, but the safeword never came. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no,” he all but snapped, “keep going.”

Without warning, Dipper was suddenly three fingers deep. “Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.” When he felt Bill was sufficiently prepped, he returned to the duffle bag and he found the massager, brandishing the black device with anticipation. There were different levels and settings ranging from slow to intense, all controlled wirelessly via an app on his phone. Dipper flicked the toy on, beginning with the lowest setting and teasingly dragged it down Bill’s torso, stopping just short of the fine hairs trailing down to his groin.

Bill bit back a moan, his fingers wrapping around the leather straps for some kind of purchase. The vibrations on his chest and stomach were absolutely sinful, worsened by the fact that he couldn’t control where they moved next - that decision was entirely up to Dipper. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Dipper asked, waiting until Bill’s eyes fell on him before continuing. He lifted the toy to his lips, sliding his tongue along the silicone shaft, eyes glued to his lover the entire time. “Just wait ‘til it’s inside you.” He then took the vibrator into his mouth, moaning around it and hollowing out his cheeks as if he were actually sucking Bill. 

“Oh _ fuck_.” The blonde watched with hungry eyes as Dipper sucked on the vibrator as though it were his own cock. It was a delicious sight - those perfect cheeks forming around the silicone without a hitch, undoubtedly from years of practice. The whole display almost did him in, but he managed to cling to his failing composure like a pro. 

When the toy was sufficiently wet, Dipper slid it from his mouth with a pop, licking away the saliva that joined his lips to the vibrator and dragged it across the patch of skin above Bill’s erection. “What do you think I should do with this?”

A gasp became caught in Bill’s throat as Dipper brought the wet toy to settle just short of his crotch. The vibrations caused his member to leak, even on the lowest setting. It was torturous, but he absolutely _ loved it. _

“Want it inside you, slut?” At Bill’s nodding, Dipper did just that. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he said as he slowly began to insert the toy, pausing after the first inch breached the ring of muscle.

Bill pushed back against the vibrator as he was penetrated, previously suppressed moans flooding the room. His body was far more receptive to bottoming than he ever would’ve imagined - a thought that he both hated and loved in equal measure. “Aren’t you gonna spank me?”

“I would, but you’d enjoy it too much. Besides…” he spread Bill's cheeks wide open before shoving the vibrator all the way inside, ripping a guttural sound from deep within his throat, “…you’re being punished.”

He watched Bill breathe deeply through his nose as he shifted, trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion. His tight walls contracted around the toy, entire body trembling deliciously. Dipper knew firsthand that the carefully molded silicone was contoured to reach all of the right places; he hadn’t been able to resist trying out his new purchase yesterday, and _ damn _was it intense, even for an experienced bottom like himself. He made sure to thoroughly sanitize it for today, eager for Bill to experience the very same pleasure. 

Settling onto his knees, he leaned forward and let his warm breath ghost over the blonde’s impossibly hard cock. The ex-dream demon was already so needy - just having Dipper's face between his legs made him increasingly harder. He cried out when Dipper started pumping the toy inside of him. Every push forward hit him deep inside and made him groan like a sex-deprived whore.

Dipper immediately surrounded the head of Bill’s cock with his lips, lapping up the pre-cum and groaning at his lover’s taste. Pairing the twist of his wrist with unrelenting suction, he palmed down to the base and back up again, his other hand pressing down on Bill’s hip to keep him from thrusting forward. Once he was sure Bill wasn’t going to facefuck him, Dipper released his grip and looked up at the man, taking more and more of him into his mouth and going back to working the vibrator in and out with long, sure strokes that he knew would make the blonde feel so. damn. _ good_.

The dual sensation of Dipper between his thighs and the vibrator in his ass was making Bill sweat. He was trying to stave off orgasm as long as possible, but a warmth was starting to rise in his lower abdomen, body tensing and muscles tightening. “Fuck,” he gasped, breaths becoming shallow and ragged, excitement building in his veins. He yanked at the bonds, unsure of what to do with his hands; he was powerless, which was another thought that only served to turn him on. Dipper had total control of him: his body, his mind, his emotions… His heart beat faster and he quickly felt the beginnings of climax building up.

Dipper dragged his tongue along the underside of Bill cock, licking at the tip and dipping his tongue into the slit to taste more of him before taking the man fully into his mouth again. He continued sucking and stroking until he felt tension singing throughout Bill’s body, at which point he knew it was time to shut it down. The pleasurable assault suddenly let up; the vibrator flicked off and was pulled out, and the warm suction also disappeared. 

Bill’s eyes shot open to find Dipper looking at him with a teasing smirk. “No...no - why the fuck are you stopping?!”

“Bad boys don’t deserve to come,” he husked, voice sultry as he rose to his feet and put some distance between them, denying Bill the satisfaction of release. Instead, Dipper stroked himself, putting on a show for the man. “Feels so good,” he sighed, breaths becoming unsteadier the quicker his hand moved. Dipper groaned, allowing himself to drown in the high that overwhelmed him as he spilled over his hand and onto the floor, Bill’s eyes trailing the ropes of come intently. 

Before he knew what was happening, the prostate massager was being shoved back in, but no move was made to turn it on. “You’re going to feel this inside of you and remember who put it there.” Dipper bit down on Bill’s neck and nipped at the pulse point, drawing a whine from deep within his throat. 

It was then that the alarm he’d set on his phone went off, an indication that their time was up. “We’ll continue this later,” he whispered, breath hot against Bill’s ear. Before he pulled away, Dipper caught the man’s lips in a brief kiss, hand threading through his honeyed locks and tugging them forcefully. 

“When do I get to come?”

“That all depends how you behave when we go out in public.”

“_What? _” 

“You heard me.” Part of Dipper wondered if he was being too cruel, but he pushed the thought away and began to undo the restraints. “If you behave, I’ll consider rewarding you.”

The thought of going out in public like this both scared Bill and aroused him at the same time. It was going to be pure torture, but he couldn’t wait to see what Dipper had in store for him.

* * *

The mall was bustling with more people than Bill initially expected, though it _ was _a Saturday afternoon just before the holidays, which meant everyone had flocked here to get good deals on Christmas gifts for loved ones. All around, people were burning through their entire disposable income in a four-hour timeframe, too focused on their own wants and desires to give much thought to anything else. Surrounding Bill and Dipper were storefronts comprised of floor to ceiling glass panels, beyond which stood mannequins sporting the latest fall trends. 

Continuing on, the pair ignored vendors at kiosks actively pushing phone cases and beauty products that promised anti-aging miracles. Every now and then, Bill glanced down at his vague reflection in the shiny tiled floors as they walked, never imagining he would be playing the role of submissive upon waking up this morning. 

As if reading his mind, Dipper paused to lean in close and steal a kiss. “You’re going to behave and do what I tell you to.” 

When he pulled away, Bill felt his usual cockiness returning. “Why should I?” 

“Because if you don’t,” Dipper warned, voice threatening and brusque, “I’m going to yank it out and you won’t get to come at all.” 

“That’s not fair—” Bill’s protest died as the toy suddenly buzzed to life again for a solid five seconds before stopping. The device was nestled right up against his prostate without an inch of forgiveness, and he understood why Dipper always arched up off the mattress whenever he managed to hit that jumble of nerves. White hot arousal radiated throughout his entire body, almost debilitatingly so. 

This was going to be one hell of a punishment. 

“Maybe you should’ve listened to me earlier.” 

The blonde was oh-so tempted to fire back a few insults, but he kept them to himself (for now) and put his effort into trying to maintain a poker face in front of all these clueless strangers. 

“Let’s have lunch,” Dipper suggested casually, dragging Bill in the direction of a Ruby Tuesday that was built directly into the mall. It was slightly darker inside but with no less people than were flooding the main corridors.

The hostess greeted them and added Dipper’s name to the waitlist, assuring him it wouldn’t be much longer until a table opened up. To Bill, the ten minute wait felt more like a thousand years. Sitting on a bench off to the side, he shifted uncomfortably, unsure if this or standing felt worse. He took a deep breath, overly cognizant of the intrusion in his ass, meeting Dipper’s eyes only when the brunette took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. 

_ Fucking bastard. _

He had a difficult time concentrating as the hostess led them to an available seat and handed out menus, unable to focus on the entree and drink options and anything else that wasn’t going on south of his waist. It got to the point where Dipper had to order for him, thankfully knowing Bill well enough to pick out something he liked. 

* * *

When they were nearly finished, Dipper decided to have some fun. He waited until Bill raised his glass to his lips and immediately cranked the vibrations up to the second highest setting. Just as expected, Bill jumped, spilling his drink all over the table and his shirt.

“Whoops,” Dipper laughed, “my fingers slipped.” 

“Fucker,” Bill cursed under his breath, sopping up the mess with a napkin. He became acutely aware of the strangers eyeing them from the table catty-corner to theirs and a pang embarrassment hit him even though he knew this was _ meant _to be degrading.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Dipper asked, one eyebrow raised. His thumb hovered over the button that would amp up the intensity even more. 

Backed into a corner, Bill ground out, “Nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.” Dipper hummed, setting his phone down.

They continued to eat without further incident. 

An eternity passed until their waitress returned with the check and asked if they needed anything else. Dipper shook his head and passed the receipt to Bill after she walked away. He began to sign his name when another jolt made him lurch forward, causing his usually-elegant penmanship to look like a five-year-old had scribbled across the paper. He glared at Dipper, the brunette simply shrugging and acting like he had no idea what just happened. 

* * *

After lunch, Dipper insisted on dragging him into random stores just to look around and leave empty-handed, parading Bill around like a show horse under the pretense of shopping for things he didn’t really need. They paused in front of Macy’s, Dipper taking his hand as they walked inside the department store together.

It was going on three hours now since they first arrived here and Bill was becoming flustered with the constant starting and stopping. This punishment was turning out to be a lot less fun than he’d imagined, but the price of disobedience loomed in his mind and stifled any impatient urges he may have had. There was no way he was going to suffer through all of this just to end up screwing himself over and having Dipper deny him release. So, as much as Bill wanted to resume his bratty charade, he bit the bullet and buried his frustration beneath a cool façade.

_ Way _easier said than done.

They’d just entered the men’s clothing section when Dipper pulled another trick from his sleeve, navigating to the pulse patterns tab of the app. The toy thrummed deep inside of Bill, creating brand new sensations that nearly brought him to his knees right then and there. Nearby, customers sifted through displays, the screech of metal hangers sliding across clothing racks fading out, giving way to his heartbeat - the only thing he was able to focus on besides the vibrations pulling him apart from the inside out. 

“Triangle,” he gasped, eyes glassy like he was only half in reality, clearly unable to fight this any longer. 

Immediately, Dipper dropped the dom act and flew into concerned boyfriend mode. “What’s wrong?” 

It took Bill a moment to respond, hands wrapping around the metal bar of a clothing rack for support, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his brow. “I can’t take it anymore. I need to come,” he spoke quietly, thighs trembling with each passing second. 

If they drew this out any longer, he wasn’t going to make it.

Dipper decided to take pity on him and located the nearest men’s room, leading him inside. Bill let out a soft, approving sound, eager to alleviate the agonizing tension building inside of him all afternoon. They slipped into one of the many vacant stalls and Dipper slid the locking mechanism into place. 

Turning to Bill, Dipper began undoing the blonde’s jeans, albeit agonizingly slowly. “If you want to come, you’ll have to ask me nicely.” He may have been a caring dom, but he was still a dom nonetheless. 

Bill inhaled sharply, “Pine—”

“_No_,” Dipper snapped, the single word reining Bill in like a dog on a leash. “Ask me the right way.”

He tried again, voice almost inaudible. “Please, Master.”

“What was that?“ 

“_Please, Master_,” Bill repeated with more conviction this time. Hell, he never intended to willingly utter that phrase but the desperation for release was too great. He could always tend his wounded pride later. 

“Please what?” Dipper pressed, urging him to say the words aloud. 

“Please let me come.” He went to palm himself, but Dipper slapped his hands away. 

“No, Bill. You’re going to come from this,” a finger lightly tapped the base of the toy, “or not at all.” 

He nodded complacently, biting down on his lip when Dipper ratcheted up the intensity of the vibrations. Each tingling sensation was magnified a thousand times by the time they reached his nerve endings. He slumped back, whimpering like he was about to cry - like a little fucking bitch. 

Dipper was going to pay for this. 

Looking into Bill’s bright gold eyes, the man in question leaned forward to bring their lips together in a heated kiss. His tongue swept across Bill’s bottom lip until he pressed inside, hands trailing back to squeeze his ass. “Mmm…” Dipper pulled away with a wet noise, lips trailing down Bill’s jaw and to his bare neck. He nipped and sucked on the skin there until Bill was sporting a significant bruise. 

“I’m coming,” he warned, wrenching away and painting the metal walls with thick streaks of cum. A severe case of jelly-legs required Dipper to support him from the side as BIll braced himself against the bathroom stall, panting harshly under the onslaught. He gave the blonde a second to catch his breath before coaxing powerful second and third orgasms from his already overstimulated form, shivering until he couldn’t take it any longer. Dipper stroked Bill’s face tenderly, encouraging him through it as his entire body shook so hard he could barely remain upright. 

Never in his trillion-year existence had he experienced something like this. 

“Good boy.” Dipper pressed a kiss to his temple, stroking a soothing hand down his back. Bill stood there gasping, attempting to regain the breath that was stolen from him. He trembled uncontrollably even after it was over, wondering if it was possible to die from such intense pleasure.

Dipper pulled some toilet paper from the roll and cleaned him up, carefully tucking Bill back into his pants. He smiled and kissed him gently, fingers combing through the black hairs at the base of his neck. 

“Let’s go home.” 

* * *

Bill all but collapsed when they returned the apartment, dizzy from all of the teasing Dipper put him through. To say he was relieved to be home was a gross understatement.

Dipper allowed him a moment’s reprieve while he made his way to the bedroom, digging through the closet until he located a set of cinnamon-scented candles and a lighter that hadn’t been used since last Valentine’s Day. Even though tonight would be more kinky than romantic, it didn’t prevent him from trying to set the mood. It took a few attempts before the wicks caught, but soon the light of the flames flickered across the bedroom walls in a soft amber hue. 

Finally Dipper called for Bill, motioning for him to shut the door so any smoke given off wouldn’t travel down the hall and irritate Pickle’s tiny lungs. The blonde was prepared to make a smartass remark about the lack of rose petals strewn across the bed but he stopped himself short.

Now was _ not _the time to piss Dipper off.

“Are you going to behave for me?”

Bill swallowed thickly, lingering near the door until Dipper gave him further instructions. “Yes, Master.” He felt so stupid calling him that, but he wasn’t the one in control this time, as Dipper made painfully clear.

“Come here,” Dipper motioned, a single finger drawing him forward as though he possessed some kind of telekinetic powers. He told Bill to kneel, the blonde licking his lips, transfixed on Dipper’s hands which were slowly undoing his pants to expose himself. He was glad Bill decided to play along, because he was ready to have some real fun now. Gripping his length, he brushed it over Bill’s lips teasingly. “Tell me how much you want it,” he said, stroking the hardening flesh with one hand and gripping the back of Bill’s hair with the other, forcing the man to look up at him. Those beautiful eyes were working their magic on Dipper, both pleading and sinful all at once. 

Bill did as he was told. Although he was older than Dipper by hundreds of thousands of years, he loved the man’s darker side. Maybe acting submissive wasn’t as terrible as he initially thought it would be. “I want your dick in my mouth, Master. I want to taste you and please you with my tongue.” In any other situation, he would’ve felt embarrassed saying such things, but frankly he was too turned on to care. He focused his gaze on Dipper, gold irises peeking out from beneath his thick, dark eyelashes. 

This time around, Bill was much better at following directions, submitting so beautifully beneath his touch. He took a deep breath the first time that Dipper thrust hard into his mouth, lips surrounding the length of his lover's cock, hollowing out his cheeks to take the man deeper even though his eyes began to water and he choked a few times when Dipper hit the back of his throat.

Bringing Bill to his feet, Dipper licked the saliva and pre-cum from his chin, savoring the combined taste. His tongue dipped into the man’s mouth for more, licking up his diluted essence and sucking teasingly on Bill’s tongue. He blindly navigated them towards the bed, breaking the kiss to sit, pulling his partner down with him. 

Bill shifted until he was on his hands and knees off to the side while the other remained sitting on the edge of the mattress. He positioned himself to take the head of Dipper’s cock back into his mouth, sucking the tip inside teasingly at first and pulling off to lick the length. Without pretense, he sank down and deepthroated him, drawing a prolonged, appreciative moan from Dipper.

After their initial period of separation, the thought of sleeping with other men had crossed Bill’s mind, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. At least there had been a clear disconnect between Dipper and the women he bedded; it was easy to disassociate round breasts and wet pussy with Dipper’s flat chest and hard cock nestled between his legs.

The same cock that Dipper was forcing him to take until he was balls deep in that warm, slick mouth. 

“Fuck yes. Good boy,” the younger moaned out from above him, showering Bill with reverent praise over the jarring sounds of him gagging around his dick. Reaching back, he carefully slid the toy from between Bill’s legs, pulling sighs of relief from Bill when it was finally removed. The blonde went back to pleasuring him while Dipper spread his hole and slipped a single finger inside, teasingly stroking and rubbing around the rim. Entranced, he pulled Bill off his cock and shifted until he was behind him, inspecting his slick, gaping hole. The tight muscle was red and raw - _ beautiful_. Overcome with sheer want, Dipper leaned forward and flicked his tongue over the sensitive flesh, spreading the fleshy globes for better access. 

Bill’s skin prickled at the mere thought of how intimate this actually was. He’d only ever done this to Dipper, not the other way around - a goddamn shame considering how incredible it felt. “Deeper,” he husked, thrusting backwards to meet Dipper’s tongue. The kid was essentially making out with his ass but Bill was in _ no way _ complaining about it. 

“Talk to me. Tell me what you want...” His voice was coated with lust and quick shallow breaths as Dipper thumbed his tip, collecting pre-cum to be used as lubricant as he stroked himself and dove back in for more. They were both so horny after months of distancing themselves from each other. It was amazing to finally relieve some of the sexual tension.

Bill knew full well what the younger man was asking him for, but Dipper was making him beg for it. “I want your dick inside of me, I want to feel you…” Bill mewled, fully aware that he sounded like a true cockslut as soon as the words left his mouth. The foreplay and scented candles were causing him to slip into a state of ecstasy - the best high he could get without drugs or alcohol. 

Obviously Bill no longer had doubts about being penetrated, and Dipper was having a hard time saying no to such an inviting request. He reached over to the nightstand, retrieving a new bottle of lubricant and coating his fingers with the slippery substance. It warmed on contact, making everything feel even more erotic than it already was. Dipper gingerly slid two fingers into Bill, patiently waiting for his body to adjust before scissoring and stretching him open. The entire time, he placed loving kisses on the blonde’s lower back as a way to apologize for any pain or discomfort. 

“Ready?” With a consensual nod from Bill, Dipper mounted him from behind, slowly sinking inside his hot entrance with a groan. “Holy shit...” he gasped, sliding in easily since his hole was still wet and slick from their little game earlier. The moment Dipper fully entered him, Bill lost all sense of control. His body arched up, head tilting back with a gasping inhale, moaning loudly as he was penetrated. 

“Oh _ fuck_…” Dipper breathed, letting out shaky gasps as he fully sheathed himself inside Bill. The man felt like Heaven even though he was far from holy, tight walls clenching around his length and pulling him in deeper. Dipper slipped a finger in alongside his cock, feeling the way Bill’s body stretched around his own. “Bill...ngh, so good...” He perched himself over his lover, kissing his spine tenderly. 

When he felt Bill was ready, Dipper bent forward, gripping the man’s shoulders as he took him from behind. It was much too slow for either of their liking, but he never wanted to intentionally harm him, physically or emotionally. 

Not like Bill had hurt Dipper on so many occasions.

He shoved the thought away and ignored the tightening in his chest. All of that was in the past - they were in a good place now, working on rebuilding the trust between them. And, considering their current dynamic, Bill had a lot of trust for Dipper, letting the man push him out of his comfort zone in such a drastic fashion. Folding himself over Bill, Dipper began to increase the pace, one hand wrapping around the blonde’s neck to kiss him and stifle his moans. He quickly learned that Bill was a vocal bottom - a fact the new tenants next door were also now painfully aware of.

The brunette’s hands found his hips, guiding him into a new position. Bill didn’t want to move, but Dipper was turning him to lay on his back against the mattress. “I want to see your face while I‘m inside of you,” he explained, voice low and sensual.

Bill shuddered at that, somehow finding it more erotic than any of the dirty talk exchanged between them. A warmth overcame him and he couldn’t deny his love for Dipper in that moment. An overwhelming desire to say those three words was building up inside of him, one hand grasping the brunette’s side, fingers digging into his ass to pull him closer while his other hand gripped the linen sheets with pale knuckles.

Three words came out, but they were not the ones he intended.

“Fuck me harder,” Bill urged, moving his hand around Dipper’s neck and pulling him down so that he could bite his lower lip. “_Ruin me._” 

Those words drove Dipper wild; there would be no holding back now. He hooked his hands under Bill’s knees, spreading them as wide as possible so he could thrust deeper into him. The slow pace quickly picked up speed, becoming much more primal and raw, balls slapping his rim with each thrust. Bill’s arms felt restless, skating across Dipper’s back, around his neck, sliding over the brunette’s forearms where they eventually settled, gripping the skin tight as he was pounded into. He urged Dipper down to make out as they fucked, legs wrapping tightly around his body while his hips rolled forward, forcing Dipper deeper inside. After a while, Bill couldn't kiss the man any longer and just held his lips against Dipper’s in an open-mouthed kiss, their mixed breaths indistinguishable from one another. 

He cried out when Dipper brushed up against that sweet spot that was abused all day, hips lifting up off the bed so dramatically that Dipper had to pin him down as he writhed. Thrust after thrust pulled the blonde apart, leaving him absolutely wrecked. 

If their gasps and moans of passion were any indication, neither was going to last much longer. 

Wrapping his arms around Bill, Dipper held him close and buried his head into his lover’s neck, softly whispering in his ear. “Come for me, Bill.” A hand trailed down to wrap around the man’s neglected cock, jacking him off in time with their thrusts. Cum splattered across Bill’s abdomen and chest, inner walls clenching around Dipper to draw out his pleasure. 

It was all too much, the way Bill came undone beneath him, his face and gold eyes beautifully expressing the pure ecstasy he was experiencing. Dipper let himself go, filling Bill to the brim as he shivered through his second orgasm of the day.

After all was said and done, Bill dragged Dipper down with him to rest over his form, both feeling equally boneless from the from the intense lovemaking session. He brushed his fingers along Dipper’s back, enjoying the feel of the man still buried within him. The corners of his vision blurred and the occasional shudder ran through him in the aftermath of such a release. It had been months since they’d last found themselves in a similar position - maybe even close to a year. 

Bill decided then and there that he never wanted anything to get in the way of their relationship ever again.

“How many times did you come today?” Dipper pulled him from his thoughts, fingers smoothing across Bill’s skin absentmindedly as he looked down at the blonde. 

“Five… I think.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Bill chuckled, pulling Dipper into a hug and kissing him soundly. Without a doubt, this was some of the best sex either had had in a long time.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, until Dipper decided that he’d rather not fall asleep with drying cum and lubricant everywhere. A pulled muscle in his abdomen barked its annoyance and caused him to wince as he hobbled to the bathroom to fetch a couple of Tylenol for himself and Bill, along with a damp washcloth to clean themselves up. 

He smiled when he returned and saw that Bill was half asleep, thoroughly exhausted from the day’s events. Dipper cleaned him up and pulled the blankets up to his chest, kissing his boyfriend’s temple and stroking his mussed hair. Bill hummed softly, eyes opening slightly to stare up at the incredible man he most definitely didn’t deserve. 

Dipper tossed the washcloth into the hamper and retrieved a cigarette from the open carton on his dresser. “Wanna join me?” He knew there was really no point in asking, but left the invitation open regardless.

Bill was barely coherent by this point and just waved him off from beneath the comforter. It wasn’t like he could even _ think _about standing up after something so intense.

Laughing to himself, Dipper slipped past the sliding door and onto the balcony - which was more of a shoddy wooden platform that was barely up to code - to have an after-sex cigarette before turning in for the night.

Things were finally starting to feel right again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, I think I’ve solidified my place in hell. See you all there :)
> 
> Things start going downhill next chapter, so buckle up bitches!!
> 
> Note: I will be gone from October 19th to the 28th and don’t expect to get much writing done in that time, so I’ll apologize now for any delay in posting future chapters. Love you all~


	8. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BACK! Not being able to work on this since October 9th was torture. Fortunately the break made me extra inspired for this fic. This chapter jumps around/transitions a lot because it takes place over several days, sorry about that~

A few days before Thanksgiving, Dipper and Bill began preparing their suitcases to stay at Dipper’s childhood home, just as they did every year. The house in Piedmont wasn’t that much further for Bill to commute from in the morning, and Dipper had four days off for the holiday, even though the more stringent professors insisted on assigning work over the break. 

Regardless, both were looking forward to spending time together.

In the living room of their apartment, Bill groaned frustratedly, pausing his search to yell out, “Dipper, have you seen my phone charger?”

“No, sorry,” Dipper called back from where he was currently determining which essentials to bring. The bottle of lubricant in the nightstand came to mind, but his well-founded concerns over his parents digging through his belongings prevented him from actually tucking it into his luggage. If he and Bill got up to anything during the stay, they’d just have to make due with whatever substitutions were available to them.

“Fuck,” Bill said, loud enough that it traveled down the hallway to the bedroom. He could hear Dipper chastising him over the profanity given that the stupid bird was within earshot, already packed into a smaller cage designed for traveling. Mr. and Mrs. Pines were hardly animal lovers, as evidenced earlier that week when Dipper casually mentioned over the phone about bringing Pickle along. It had taken a hell of a lot of convincing for Mabel to keep Waddles, and although a bird was less of a hassle than a sixty pound pig, he could tell his mother wasn’t fond of the idea. 

The charger went forgotten - he’d just borrow Dipper’s until he could get a new one - and the two went about stuffing the trunk of Bill’s Corvette with luggage that was undoubtedly overpacked. Dipper had just settled into the passenger seat when Pickle uttered a slightly garbled, yet audible word:

“_Fuck_.”

* * *

The pair arrived around quarter of seven that night, pulling into the spacious driveway behind Mabel’s vehicle. Wind rustled the trees, blowing leaves across the yard and down the residential street. The few that remained clinging to the branches adopted fiery hues, vibrant reds and oranges standing out in the artificial light spilling across the yard from the front porch. Bill never had his own childhood, at least not in the human sense, but he couldn’t help imagining what it would’ve been like to grow up in this suburban paradise. 

They made their way up the short set of concrete stairs together and Dipper pressed the bell to alert the rest of his family of their arrival. He jumped a little when Bill abruptly grabbed his ass and winked deviously. 

Cursing the man’s libido, Dipper pushed Bill’s hand away just as the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Pines. “Good to see you both,” she said, looking just the same as she did every year with her hair pulled back, loose curls held in place with bobby pins, an olive cardigan draped across her narrow shoulders. 

“Hey mom,” Dipper greeted her, simultaneously sweeping loose curls from his line of sight. A haircut was in order in the near future - maybe he’d ask Mabel to help out with that sometime this week. 

“Come in,” she urged, stepping aside to make room for her son’s friend. Bill entered the home and paid an obligatory compliment to Mrs. Pines, all smiles and wolfish charm. Dipper rolled his eyes at Bill’s attempts to butter up his mom, even though it was absolutely working. Flattery was the best way to win someone over after all. “You’re so sweet, Bill. Let me make you a snack,” she said, leading him into the kitchen to chat while Dipper went back outside to grab Pickle and their luggage.

When said task was completed, he rejoined the two at the island counter, catching the tail-end of their conversation. 

“Fascinating,” Bill said, perching his chin on his palm with mock-interest while Mrs. Pines served him tea and store-bought cookies. Dipper slid onto the stool beside Bill, politely accepting one of the mugs. The pre-baked sweets didn’t come as a surprise given that his mom had never been much of a cook. As he chewed, he watched the interaction between Bill and Susanna, wishing more than ever that they could maintain this same dynamic if she knew Bill was his boyfriend. Sadly, that ideal rapport between Bill and his parents would never exist in any version of reality. He’d seen the way they both responded to same-sex couples on television with disgust and he could only imagine their reactions when he eventually clued them in to his own sexual orientation... ‘eventually’ being later this week, given Bill’s insistence that he come out to them before the year’s end. 

He needed to bite the bullet, as much as the dread settling low in his stomach told him otherwise. 

“We should unpack,” he said after a while, when a natural lull had stunted the conversation. Dipper set the empty cup down and guided Bill up the carpeted staircase to his old bedroom, even though the blonde had seen it before during previous holiday visits. The bare-bones room contained some essentials and not much else; a bed, bookcase, and desk shoved off in the corner along with a few other items of his parents’ that spilled into the space. 

Spreading out horizontally across the mattress, Dipper was met with the unmistakable scent of lavender. His mother had taken the liberty of washing his and Mabel’s bedsheets which otherwise went untouched since last Christmas. Bill crawled onto the mattress along with him, leaning over Dipper and kissing him softly. 

As pleasant as it was, Dipper slid out from beneath him, too scared to go any further since his bedroom door didn’t have a lock and his family wasn’t the greatest at knocking before entering. He put a few inches between them in case someone barged in, preventing from incriminating themselves too early. 

* * *

Everything about the house was mostly the same, including the upstairs bathroom, whose cadmium-yellow walls hadn’t been updated since the early 2000’s. A green border depicting sunflowers ran all along the walls, peeling up in certain areas where the adhesive backing dried out over two consecutive decades. 

Dipper had just finished washing his hands and twisted the doorknob when Mabel appeared in the hallway. “Movies and board games in the basement?”

“Sure, I’ll see if Bill wants to join.” Holidays at home always felt like one big sleepover. 

The two men joined Mabel downstairs, settling into the finished space with its recessed lighting and plush couches. As the twins prepared Monopoly, Bill wandered over to the fireplace and regarded the photos sitting on top of it. He reached out for one of Dipper wearing his lamb costume (which had long ago become a permanent, _ mortifying _fixture upon the mantelpiece) and chuckled at the sight of the awkward preteen. Judging by his boyish looks, the photo was taken sometime just before the fateful summer when Bill met Dipper for the very first time. At least his parents spared him by sticking it downstairs instead of in the living room. 

Once the game was set up, Mabel insisted on going first, blurting some shoddy excuse about birth order. 

“I’m the youngest out of all of us,” Bill said to the twins’ confusion. 

Mabel’s brow scrunched as she tried to make sense of that claim. “But you’re like, a trillion going on thirty...” 

“In demon years. Technically, as a human, I’m only three years old.” 

“Okay, you’re making it weird,” Dipper groaned, shaking his head at the disgusting implications of that statement. He preferred to think of Bill as a young adult, as his vessel reflected. He shook his head. “Rock, paper, scissors for it?”

“You’re on, bro.” To no one’s surprise, Mabel ended up winning by smashing Dipper’s scissors with her fist and rolled the dice to begin the first turn. 

* * *

Two hours and multiple disputes over how much rent was owed later, the trio decided to call it quits and pack the game back into its box, stuffing it into the games closet for some other night. 

“I was totally owning your butts,” Mabel grinned as the three sat down to watch a rerun of Jeopardy together. 

Alex read a clue from the first category and Bill chimed in with a confident “Yemen”, only for a contestant to provide the actual answer of ‘Qatar’, which turned out to be the correct response. Dipper shifted on the couch to face him with a smug smile. “I thought you knew everything?”

“I _ did_, but your tiny human brains can’t hold all that knowledge,” Bill huffed with annoyance. He’d once been the Master of the Mindscape, an omniscient being of near-godlike status, now reduced to a fragile mass of flesh and bone. “A demon’s bound to forget some shit when he’s stuffed into one of these pathetic mortal vessels.”

“Sure... unless you didn’t actually know it in the first place and you’re acting like you did to impress me,” Dipper countered. “Also, you just insulted yourself.”

Bill stuck his middle finger up. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe later,” the brunette winked, making no effort to conceal the suggestiveness of his retort. 

This caused Mabel to cover one of her ears while fumbling for the remote with the other. “Oh my gosh you guys,” she gagged, turning the volume up a few more notches in a feeble attempt to drown out the playful banter between her brother and his boyfriend. She stole a glance at the pair from the corner of her eye, a sweet smile forming as she watched them exchange a chaste kiss. As much as she feigned a grossed-out sibling response, it was nice to see them getting back to their usual selves. 

* * *

The next afternoon, Dipper and Bill lounged around in the brunette’s room, laying on their sides on his bed, lazily staring into each other’s eyes. The fading sunlight struck golden hues across the wall, slanted strips filtering through the blinds as the incandescent star fell further into the west. Dipper dropped his head against the pillow, closing his eyes and focusing on the atmosphere surrounding them. Through the vents, warm air billowed into the room, providing a cozy reprieve from the November chill and in the distance, the hum of a passing aircraft stood out from the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

Dipper’s soft mocha eyes opened slightly when he felt Bill’s fingers brush through the tangle of curls covering his forehead, pushing them aside to gaze at the constellation lending to the boy’s charming sobriquet. _ Beautiful_. He gently traced the birthmark with his mouth, ghosting across the skin and peppering soft kisses in his wake. Bill’s light touches progressed into neck kisses, then nipping bites, and before Dipper knew it, they found themselves exchanging sloppy handjobs while Mr. Pines was at work and Mabel and their mom were purchasing last-minute grocery items for the holiday tomorrow.

Bill effortlessly pulled wanton moans from the younger man, the quick slide and snap of his wrist getting Dipper riled up, until the slam of a car door alerted them that someone was home. Even with the door to his room closed, Dipper caught the sound of Mabel’s laughter traveling up the staircase from the foyer and stiffened. To Bill’s annoyance, the brunette paused his strokes to shoot a text to his sister.

_ Keep mom downstairs. _

Mabel’s subsequent response was a simple _ why? _ And then, seconds later with swift-dawning realization: _ seriously you guys? _

Dipper involuntarily groaned on the upstroke and wrote back with blurring vision: _ Pleas_, too far gone to correct the missing ‘e’ at the end. 

_ Fine. _

_You owe me tho. _

He barely had time to read the last message before he dropped his phone somewhere between their bodies, Bill’s renewed, feverish movements claiming his attention. He clamped one hand over his mouth to suppress his moans, the other resuming its previous pace on the blonde’s cock. He’d mastered the skill of silent self-pleasure throughout his preteen and adolescent years, putting it to use while jacking off on weeknights when he really should’ve been sleeping for school the next day.

Suddenly, Bill shifted, pinning Dipper beneath him and ground their cocks together with an almost unbearable friction. Emboldened by the sudden change in dynamic, Dipper rutted against the man until he couldn’t hold back anymore and came in thick streaks, brow knitted and soft gasps buried into his boyfriend’s shoulder. Bill reached his pleasure soon after, adding to the cum pooling on Dipper’s chest and abdomen. Neither wanted to move just yet, but as much fun as it was to quite literally fuck around with Bill, Dipper _ really _needed to get to work on his English assignment. 

He reluctantly stood, reaching for a tissue to wipe away the aftermath of the quick session and yank his pants back up around his waist. Bill also rose, mirroring his actions and gathered a change of clothing. “I’m gonna grab a shower. Wanna join me?” 

“Can’t. I have to start my term paper,” Dipper lamented, opening the lid of his laptop as Bill exited the room with a ‘suit yourself’ and a wink. Despite his best efforts to concentrate on the subject at hand, Dipper couldn’t help but focus on the lingering warmth radiating across his body and the way his heart skipped several beats at a time. 

He knew in that moment he was absolutely, hopelessly, _ madly in love _with Bill Cipher and never wanted this feeling to fade away.

* * *

“Here, read this and tell me if it sounds alright.” 

Bill took the laptop and scanned over the typed document with vague interest. Dipper watched his radiant eyes flick across the rows of text, becoming engrossed in the subject of female representation in 19th century literature. After a minute, the blonde paused to let Dipper know he’d spelled ‘consequently’ wrong and retyped the word correctly. It was a justifiable mistake considering Dipper had spent most of the evening scouting through scholarly articles and journals, using them to morph his tangled thoughts into paragraphs that sounded somewhat cohesive. 

“It’s really good,” Bill commented, passing the computer back to Dipper who looked like he didn’t believe the praise (damn his self-doubt) and asked if he really meant it. Looking annoyed, the blonde cupped his boyfriend’s jaw, voice lowering to a quieter register. “Would I lie to you?”

“_Yes_,” Dipper said without missing a beat.

Bill rolled his eyes and kissed him anyway with a tenderness that wasn’t often present in their relationship, but was becoming more frequent these days. Perhaps the painful period of separation actually helped bring them closer together.

Dipper had just pulled away and stood to print his paper when the door opened without warning. “Dinner’s ready,” his father smiled softly, hand resting on the knob as he kindly regarded his son and Bill. 

Dipper kept his back to the door, heartbeat out of control over the idea that he’d nearly caught them in a compromising position. He went about tapping the pages against his desk to straighten them before stapling the stack together, taking the time to compose himself before finally facing his father.

“Okay, we’ll be right down,” he offered with a convincing smile, hoping it didn’t sound too much like he was ushering his dad from the room. Fortunately, it worked and he waited until they were alone again before exchanging a ‘that was close’ sort of look with Bill. 

* * *

After dinner and once everyone had retired to bed, Bill abandoned the guest cot on the floor in favor of spooning his lover from behind and linking their fingers together in the darkness. 

“I’m going to do it,” Dipper said out of nowhere, thumb rubbing the side of Bill’s hand as they cuddled underneath the covers.

“Hmm?” Bill hummed, unsure of what Dipper was on about. He was content just to lay there in silence and exchange body heat for the foreseeable future. 

“Tell my parents about us,” Dipper clarified, “I’m gonna do it tomorrow.”

Bill smirked to himself. “Looking forward to it.” He was thankful that they were shrouded in darkness as he was unable to contain the deviousness blooming across his features.

Dipper had _ no idea _what he was planning. 

* * *

Around noon the next day, the Pines family settled in to give thanks and partake in a gross overabundance of food. While Bill was still somewhat new to human traditions, he was familiar enough with the seven sins to know that gluttony was the name of the game today. Sure, it was masked under the guise of gratitude, but in reality, millions of Americans used it as an excuse to stuff their guts past the point of sickness. Turned off by the thought, Bill politely refused a second helping, insistently nudging Dipper underneath the table instead. 

The younger man nodded slowly, but even with Bill’s urging, he hesitated. Dread anchored itself in the pit of his stomach and the untouched portion on his plate was suddenly unappetizing. 

He couldn’t believe he was about to out himself like this.

With a resolute nod, he reminded himself he was doing this for Bill and exhaled softly. “Mom, Dad... there’s something I need to tell you. I, um... I just, it’s...” The words he’d so carefully chosen in his head manifested into a jumbled mess as they tumbled past his lips and Dipper was left looking like a total moron.

“What is it, Mason?” 

He stiffened at the use of his birth name; the syllables sounded like poetry when Bill uttered it, but coming from his father, it felt reprimanding and harsh. The clanking of utensils against ceramic abruptly halted as everyone’s attention zeroed in on him. 

With each second that passed, a stifling tension threatened to strangle the room’s occupants. Despite this, Dipper continued tiptoeing around the big reveal with justified trepidation, trying to determine the best way to go about this. Bill wasn’t helping matters with his constant prodding but he knew it was now or never. With a deep, shaking breath, Dipper readied himself to reveal his sexuality to the same people who freaked out when he returned from the tattoo parlor with both arms fully inked a day after turning eighteen. 

“I’m bisexual,” he said quickly, letting the words fall out before he had a chance to panic. “Bill’s my boyfriend.” He bit down on his lip and waited for the inevitable shitstorm.

For minutes that felt like hours, no one moved or spoke a word. Finally, Susanna blotted the corners of her mouth using the cloth napkin and chuckled. Well, that certainly hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting. Out of all the possible scenarios his anxiety-addled brain dreamt up, he never imagined their first response to be _ this_. His father joined in too with a hearty, robust laugh, their combined amusement a stark juxtaposition to the seriousness of the situation. 

_ Clearly_, Dipper was joking with them. 

Bill muttered something under his breath, patience thinning like the ink of a dying pen. He was about to serve up a plate of tension-smothered awkwardness. “Doesn’t seem like they believe you,” the blonde chirped, turning fully in his chair to address Dipper. “Why don’t you tell them what we did the other weekend?”

Dipper‘s eyes widened and his face immediately paled. “No, Bill—”

“Go ahead - tell them how you tied me up and refused to let me come until I called you _ Master _,” he mocked, noting with malicious satisfaction that Andrew and Susanna’s laughter quickly died out. 

“_Stop_,” Dipper pled, voice the epitome of desperation, but in reality, the ex-dream demon was just getting started. 

Bill tilted his head, hot breaths spilling out against the sensitive skin of the boy’s neck as he continued: “Tell them how you shoved that vibrator inside of me and made me come three times in a row... how you fucked me raw until I couldn’t take it anymore...”

Andrew and Susanna were staring now, mouths slightly agape as the shock took over. Even Mabel seemed to be in a state of disbelief that Bill was subjecting them all to the intimate details of their sex life.

“Please stop,” Dipper begged, urgently tugging at Bill’s arm as if it would make a difference. This was undoubtedly the most humiliated he’d ever felt and Bill knew it, _ reveled _ in it, because he kept going with a delighted grin, voice becoming breathier as he dealt the final blow. 

“Tell them how you pinned me down and _ dumped your hot load inside my ass _—”

The screech of chair legs scraping hardwood tore through the dining room as Mr. Pines shot up and slammed his palms against the table. “That’s enough of this sick joke,” he demanded, shoulders tense and shaking from the obscene profanities Bill was spouting like an author penning an erotic novel. This elaborate prank had gone too far.

Seeing as they still weren’t convinced, Bill decided to prove the truth of his statements by pressing his mouth to Dipper’s, tongue pushing inside despite the kid’s resistance. Both of his parents flinched, thoroughly repulsed by the disgusting display unfolding before them. After a few seconds, Bill pulled away to lick a stripe across Dipper’s neck, his lover nothing but receptive to the intimate touches. “Now Mommy and Daddy know just how naughty their little boy is,” he teased, keeping his tone sharp enough that everyone in the room could hear exactly what he was saying. 

But it wasn’t until their son inadvertently _ whimpered _in response that Andrew and Susanna completely lost it. 

Bill slid back with a mischievous grin as the brunette buried his head in his hands, face beet red and burning. His mother was in tears at this point, repeating ‘no’ over and over in her disbelief while his father glared at them with rage-filled eyes. 

Sometimes it felt like ruining Dipper’s life was Bill’s _ raison d’être _. 

The blonde stood up, tossing his cloth napkin onto the table, no longer feeling the need to stick around now that he’d successfully sabotaged Dipper’s plans. The brunette watched in disbelief as he left him behind to search for something, _ anything _, to relieve the absolute embarrassment boring a hole through his chest. Not even a sympathetic glance from his twin was enough to comfort him. He pushed his chair out and followed after Bill, leaving Mabel to hang back and do some damage control with their parents, putting her best efforts forward to mollify the situation now that they’d ruined the holiday. 

He found Bill smoking on the front porch, looking cavalier about the fact that he’d just destroyed Dipper’s relationship with his parents. “What the _ hell _was that about?!”

“Consider it revenge for the whole orgasm denial, public humiliation thing, _ sweetheart_,” he grinned around the cigarette caught between his lips, looking just as devilish as ever.

“Do you realize what you just did? You—”

“They were going to shun you for it anyway, so I decided to have some fun... leave a few mental scars,” he chuckled, cutting off Dipper’s protest. “If there’s anyone who knows how to instill nightmares, it’s me.”

As much as he resented the man right now, a small part of Dipper had to admit that it _ was _kind of funny in a sick way.

Seconds later, Mabel appeared and relayed their parents wishes that Bill and Dipper pack up and get out of their house as soon as possible. She decided to omit the derogatory names they’d tossed around in their anger, looking like a dog with its tail between its legs now that she’d been dragged into the middle of this. “I’m really sorry. I tried,” she squeaked, grimacing at their father’s continued ranting from the dining room.

“You’re not the one who should be apologizing,” Dipper said, immediately turning to Bill with a pointed glare.

“You’ll get over it,” he shrugged, wrapping an arm around Dipper’s waist and nuzzling his jaw. “Not sure _they_ will though,” he laughed gleefully as he followed the brunette upstairs to gather their belongings.

* * *

Just as he predicted, Dipper was quick to forgiveness by the time they arrived back at their apartment that night. Perhaps it was the fact that the weight of his secret was finally lifted, or from recalling the dumbstruck expressions on his parents’ faces, but he was laughing like nothing was wrong only hours after coming out. It wasn’t like he’d ever been particularly close with them growing up, and their opinions of his lifestyle weren’t going to affect the choices he made anyway, so whether or not they accepted him was irrelevant at this point. The only people who really mattered - Mabel, Stan, and Bill - loved him no matter what and Dipper allowed himself to take comfort in that fact.

Around six, Bill farewelled him with a kiss and headed to the coffee shop for work. The place was particularly busy tonight due to all of the people who’d decided to jump on the Black Friday bandwagon, but if it kept his paycheck coming, he didn’t mind. 

Towards the end of Bill’s whirlwind shift, Nathalie approached him, appearing unusually exhausted. The dark bags under her eyes were visible even beneath the layer of makeup she wore. “Can I see you in my office for a minute?” 

Her request caught Bill off guard, but he wiped his hands on the dark fabric of his apron and followed her to the back office. 

“Close the door.” 

Shit, these types of conversations were serious. He braced for the inevitable ‘you’re fired’, prepared to recite a laundry list of reasons why he was a valuable asset to her business and possibly beg for his job, but her next words didn’t involve his premature termination. 

“I have to tell Craig about us.” 

It took him a second to remember that Craig was Nathalie’s boyfriend of two years, the very one she’d gotten into an argument with on the night he returned from Ford’s funeral. He was reason she was camped out on Bill’s front steps with a bottle of wine and a need for emotional - and ultimately physical - comfort. 

“Why?” he asked bluntly. “I haven’t said anything to Dipper.” 

“I know, and that’s your choice, but I can’t keep hiding this.”

“Yes, you can,” Bill insisted, failing to see what the problem was. Some things were better swept under the rug, especially now that he and Dipper were closer than they’d been in months. 

“No,” Nathalie exhaled, the drawn-out sound heavy and uneven as it filled the room. “I really can’t...” she swallowed thickly, barely able to look him in the eye. With two simple words, Bill felt his entire world and everything in it crumble. 

_ “I’m pregnant.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd that last scene is why I needed to draw out the storyline for a while ;) 
> 
> Stay tuned, because shit’s about to hit the fan.


	9. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are: the breaking point.

There weren’t many things that rattled Bill Cipher, be it in the mortal world or the Multiverse, but this... to say he was dumbstruck was a gross understatement. “How long...?” The question trailed off into tense atmosphere of the office but Nathalie understood precisely what he was asking. 

“About two months.” Approximately when they’d made the stupid mistake of sleeping together. “But I don’t know if it’s yours or his,” she quietly admitted. The day before their argument, Nathalie and Craig had been intimate, which meant the possible conception dates were too close to provide her with a definitive answer. 

Bill’s only response was to bury his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes with the balls of his palms and praying (to deities he didn’t believe in) that the baby wasn’t his. Given Nathalie’s adamant stance on abortion, he knew she’d be keeping this child regardless of who’d fathered it. There was no use trying to convince her to terminate the clump of cells she was already growing attached to. 

“Fuck...” he murmured, panic and anxiety beginning to filter in as he imagined how badly his partner was going to take the news.

Dipper was going to _ murder _him when he found out. 

“I’m so sorry, Bill. I never imagined this would happen,” Nathalie lamented, one hand reaching out to smooth over his shoulder while the other settled instinctively over her stomach and the fetus the size of an apple seed within.

That sight was too much for Bill - too _ grounding _\- and he found himself backing away as much as the small room would allow, nearly tripping in his haste. “I’m gonna go clock out...” As soon as the door was shut behind him, he punched out as fast as he could and got the hell out of there. 

Nathalie remained behind, allowing Bill some space while she settled down at her desk to focus on work-related matters. His reaction was the best she could hope for given the unfortunate circumstances now manifesting into something neither was actually prepared for. She wasn’t ready to be a mother just yet, but in seven months’ time, that role and the heavy responsibility that came with it would be thrust upon her. She also needed to ensure that this baby was raised with a father in its life. 

Though whether that title belonged to Bill or Craig remained to be seen. 

* * *

The Corvette wasn’t filled with the usual thumping music on the ride home, but rather an all-encompassing silence that amplified Bill’s heartbeat tenfold and left him deaf to the world around him. The only thing he could focus on right now were Nathalie’s words rattling around his brain.

_ I’m pregnant. _

_ Two months. _

_ I don’t know if it’s yours or his. _

“You really fucked up this time,” he said out loud upon catching a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror, looking as pathetic and hopeless as ever. If he still had his powers, the situation would be remedied by now - one snap of his fingers would erase Nathalie and the child from existence and his life could return to some semblance of normality. 

But of course things weren't that simple.

His eyes flicked momentarily to one of the freeway exit signs, highly contemplating getting trashed at one of the bars he used to frequent or buying some quality weed from a dealer on the seedier side of town. Anything to help take the edge off. But before Bill knew it, he was pulling up to the curb outside the housing complex, having driven the familiar route home in a trance-like state, his entire body switched into autopilot mode. It could only be attributed to the shock currently numbing his body and mind. 

Bill quietly slipped inside around midnight, closing the front door softly in just in case his boyfriend was in bed. He hung his car keys in the foyer and toed off his shoes, simply going through the motions while his thoughts lingered somewhere else. As he’d predicted, the apartment was still, the only light in the unit coming from one of the bedrooms down the hallway. Bill peered inside Dipper’s room to find him already asleep, the rise and fall of his chest accompanied by shallow breaths. The nightstand light remained on - an indication that he’d tried to wait up for Bill but ultimately couldn’t fight the burning fatigue weighing down his eyelids. 

Laying there, nestled amongst the white linen sheets, the young man looked like a vision of Heaven. 

A Heaven that he had no right to come anywhere near now, not when his hands were so blackened with sin. 

Bill ducked into his own room to change into a pair of sweatpants and went to sit out on the front steps, wondering how in the living hell he was going to break the news to Dipper. He could only imagine the devastation it would cause him - the very thing he’d been trying to avoid by choosing to cover up his tryst with Nathalie. 

There would be no more hiding it now. 

After chain smoking until quarter of two, he stubbed out his cigarette and went back inside, entering Dipper’s room for a second time. He situated himself beneath the heavy comforter, sliding in next to the brunette. The sudden depression in the mattress stirred Dipper from his peaceful slumber and those gentle brown eyes Bill loved so dearly settled on him, accompanied by the ghost of a smile. “Was waiting for you,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m here.” 

Dipper tilted his head slightly, beckoning the blonde down to kiss him softly. “Mm.” He pulled away and curled into Bill’s chest, soaking up the radiant warmth of the other man’s body. “Love you.”

A pang of guilt pierced Bill’s heart, forcing him to swallow thickly. “I love you too.” He stroked Dipper’s back until the younger man fell asleep and tried his best to soak up this moment before everything went to hell tomorrow. 

* * *

The entirety of the following day was spent trying to figure out how he was going to break the news. He could come right out and say it, or try to soften the blow, but either way, it was going to end badly. The trust he and Dipper were working so hard to reestablish would shatter the very moment he confessed his infidelity. 

Not to mention the life he may have inadvertently created.

Dipper made breakfast that morning, kissing Bill lovingly on the cheek, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil the ex-demon was struggling to keep hidden until the opportune moment. The idea to come right out and say it flew out the window the second he laid eyes on Dipper. The kid looked so damn happy sitting at the dining table, blissfully chatting away over a plate of scrambled eggs, smiling and laughing occasionally.

Bill couldn’t bear to crush him just yet. 

* * *

It wasn’t until later that evening that he finally worked up the courage to confess to his sins. The anxiety was eating away at his insides all throughout dinner, to the point that he was only able to take a few bites of food before excusing himself from the table to go sit in the living room. 

Dipper found Bill a moment later with his head buried in his hands and came to stand in front of him, checking his forehead for a fever. “Are you feeling alright?” 

“No.” The word was accompanied with a curt shake of his head. “I need to talk to you.”

Shit, he was actually going to do this. 

“Okay, just gimme a second to put the leftovers in the—”

“Right _ now_, Dipper.” 

The younger man’s expression dropped when he saw the seriousness of Bill’s face, his beautifully tanned skin blanched sheet white. “What’s wrong?”

Instead of replying right away, Bill guided the brunette from his current position to sit on the loveseat beside him. Taking both of Dipper’s hands in his own, he paused for a moment to choose his next words carefully. 

“There’s something I need to tell you...” His tongue faltered in his mouth, becoming heavy like a block of lead. Sitting here, face to face with Dipper and his innocent doe-eyes, a pain struck Bill straight through his core, leaving him with the sensation that his heart was decaying within his chest. Dipper was going to freak out, no matter how delicately he tried to phrase this. Their relationship was about to go straight down the toilet. 

_ CRACK! _

The pair jumped up from where they’d been seated, rushing towards the front door at the sound of shattering glass and the shrill blare of a car alarm. Bill stepped outside, Dipper right behind him, and both were greeted with the sight of Nathalie’s boyfriend vandalizing Bill’s beloved Corvette. The front windshield was completely smashed in, glass shards littering the car’s interior and crunching beneath Craig’s feet as he rounded the vehicle, metal bat in hand, redirecting his attention to the headlights. Nathalie stood off to the side, screaming for him to stop, but he refused to let up until he’d inflicted as much damage as possible. 

“What the _ fuck_?!” Bill was down the stairs in the blink of an eye, storming straight into the lion’s den without regard for the enraged beast within. 

Craig’s sights fell on Bill and Dipper, his ire redirected from the Chevrolet to his real target. “You son of a bitch!” He marched towards them with the bat raised, grip on the handle tightening as he took a swing at Bill. The blonde ducked, and the sports equipment-turned-weapon sliced sharply through the air above his head. “Fucking piece of shit!”

Bill growled, Craig’s bitter insults provoking him into action. He rushed forward, knocking the baseball bat from the man’s hands and threw several punches, some swiping through the air, others making contact, all while their partners stood stunned by the sudden turn of events. 

Unfortunately, Craig was quick to regain the upper hand, a litany of merciless blows straight to the gut leaving Bill doubling over in agony. He reached out for Dipper, silently beckoning him for help, but all the brunette could do was watch in confused shock as Craig continued beating the shit out of him, blood seeping from his torn knuckles from where they connected with the sturdy bones of Bill’s jaw. 

“Stop! Craig, stop it!” Nathalie yelled, attempting to drag him back as he flipped Bill the bird and continued snapping curses at him like a rabid dog, teeth bared and snarling. 

“I swear, Cipher, if it’s _ your _kid she’s knocked up with, I’ll slice your goddamn dick off!”

Dipper instantly froze, his spine transforming into stone at the sudden and unexpected revelation. “Your _ what? _”

Bill rose to his feet, spitting blood from his mouth as he turned to face Dipper. His heart immediately seized in his chest when he saw the look on the younger man’s face, realizing with growing disdain that his expression was much, _ much _worse than he ever could’ve imagined. 

While Bill was distracted, Craig broke free from Nathalie’s grip and took the opportunity to take another swing at him. The cheap shot found its mark, colliding harshly with Bill’s ribcage and forcing a pained breath out of him. 

Dipper didn’t make a single move to defend him. 

Craig continued the violent assault right up until he noticed the approaching lights and sirens. One of the neighbors must’ve witnessed the commotion erupting on the usually peaceful street and placed a call to 911 Panicked, he tossed the bat aside and took off, making a break for his own vehicle. He didn’t get far before he was tackled to the ground, writhing wildly in his attempts to resist arrest. 

As a handful of police descended on the scene, Nathalie quickly explained to one of the officers the events leading up to this point in time: the drunken affair, the pregnancy, the jealous boyfriend seeking revenge... and Dipper heard it all, straight from her mouth. 

A medic and a police officer appeared at Bill’s side, the former assessing his scrapes and wiping away the dried blood crusting around his mouth. He hardly paid attention to the cop asking if he wanted to press charges against Craig - that bastard was the least of his worries right now. “No,” he frowned, “just... get him out of here.” The car, as much as it sucked to see it in such a state, could be covered by his insurance and dealt with later. 

When Bill finally turned around to face Dipper, he felt his stomach drop to the floor. 

“You mother _ fucker_,” Dipper hissed. “You _ slept _ with her?” Of course, he already knew the answer to that, but he needed to hear it from Bill. He _ wanted _him to confess. 

“I, we—”

“_When_.” Dipper cut him off, the single word coming out as a demand rather than a question.

Bill’s voice shrank to something small and frail, and he would’ve thought someone else was speaking, except for the way he felt each and every damned syllable forming on his tongue. “The night of Sixer’s funeral. She showed up drunk so I let her stay here and...” he drew in a sharp breath and ripped off the proverbial band-aid, “...we had sex.”

Dipper grimaced, his face twisting into something pained as if Bill had just sliced him open and tore out his guts. In actuality, that wasn’t far from the truth. 

“Technically you and I weren’t together when it happened...” 

“Oh, like _ that’s _supposed to make me feel better?!” The blonde swallowed the bitterness at the back of his palate, loathe to meet Dipper’s hardened eyes. “Is there anything else you’re keeping from me?” Dipper asked, the hands at his sides balled tightly into fists, nails pressing deep into the center of his palms and nearly breaking the skin. 

“No,” Bill said quickly. He winced at the white-hot steel glare cast his way, a look of distrust and venom he’d never witnessed the kid sporting before. “I promise.”

“You ‘_promise’_,” Dipper mocked, half-laughing, half-scoffing. The sound held an unsettling edge to it, like the haunting notes of a piano echoing through empty halls. He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenching, shoulders tense. “I can’t fucking believe you.”

“Please—” The blonde made a move to touch him but Dipper backed away, widening the gap between them. 

“Stay away from me.”

With that one sentence, Bill felt what was left of his heart lurch in his chest. They were finally back on the path towards carving out a life together and now the whole thing just detonated right in his face. “No, Dipper... fuck, I need you; _ I love you_—”

“Yeah? Maybe you should’ve thought about how much you ‘loved’ me before you _ fucked Nathalie_,” Dipper snapped, the woman’s name bitten out as though it were a curse word. He shook his head and, with a harsh exhale, began walking towards his car. He slammed the driver-side door shut with enough force to rock the vehicle, but before he could fully pull the sedan away from the curb, Bill hopped into the passenger seat, determined to make Dipper listen to him.

“Get the _ fuck _out of my car.” 

Bill flat out ignored the man’s acrimonious request, proceeding to beg forgiveness in the most pitiful and desperate way possible. “I shouldn’t have waited this long - it was a mistake... I didn’t want you to find out like this. _ Please.._.”

The words filled Dipper’s ears but he wasn’t processing them, focusing instead on light rain misting the windshield. He wasn’t sure where he was driving exactly, just that he needed to go _ somewhere_. 

“You hid this from me...” The words stagnated in Dipper’s mouth, his voice shaking with raw emotion. Tears blurred his sight as heartache and regret began taking hold, a deep ache layering itself over the anger spearing his core. 

“I should’ve been honest with you. I’m sorry...”

“You’re just sorry you were caught,” Dipper replied harshly. The fact that Bill _ knowingly _kept this a secret instead of just confessing made it that much worse. He couldn’t help but remember last night, when the blonde had had the nerve to slip into bed and curl around him like a snake, professing his so-called love and acting like nothing was wrong. 

_ Son of a bitch. _

He should’ve cut ties with him all those months ago when they started drifting apart - he never should have welcomed the man back into his life. But his stupid heart overruled his head and convinced him that he just couldn’t bear to lose Bill, regardless of the pain it would bring. 

Look where that had gotten him. 

“Goddammit,” Dipper muttered, continuing to stare ahead at the stretch of wet asphalt with red and puffy eyes. “You’re a cheater _ and _a liar.” He should’ve known what he was getting into - Stan and Ford had warned him all those years ago, but he’d chosen to remain ignorant towards reality and accept fantasy instead. “I’m done. I’m fucking done with you and your bullshit, Bill.”

“No - no,” Bill sputtered, Dipper’s words cutting him like razor blades. He was losing him and that thought was unbearable. “I wanted to tell you so many times, I just - I knew you’d react like this and I... I never wanted to hurt you—” 

“Go to hell,” Dipper ground out, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. 

It was all he could do at this point to keep from breaking down. 

“Dipper... _ Mason_,” Bill choked, his own voice now tearful and broken. Despite his appeals, Dipper refused to look at him - refused to acknowledge any further pleadings for forgiveness. The killing blow had been dealt and Bill knew it. Tears poured from his eyes in wet rivulets, the salt stinging the open cut upon his lower lip. It didn’t hurt as much as Dipper saying they were finished. Hell, even death at the hands of the memory-erasing gun hadn’t been _ this _ painful. “Please forgive me...” As much as Bill knew it was hopeless, he continued to try, determined to salvage something, _ anything _ from the wreckage caused by his own hands. 

Both men were so caught up in the emotional exchange that neither noticed the pickup truck gunning it through the red light until it was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to be continued.


	10. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING: CONTAINS GRAPHIC AND DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF INJURIES AND GORE.**
> 
> Medical terminology may be inaccurate, I’m not a professional *shrugs*
> 
> If this chapter isn’t up to usual par, it’s because my brain is fried and I didn’t get time to proofread before posting. Feel free to point out any spelling or grammatical errors if you find them.

The moment Dipper’s vision returned, he glanced upwards, eyes cracked halfway open while his dizzy head tried to make sense of the situation. The last thing he remembered was getting into an argument, and now apparently a car accident, the small sedan wedged between a pickup truck and a Honda Civic. Through the broken windshield, he was able to make out a crowd of spectators gathering around the scene, some on the phone with emergency services, others attempting to check on the victims’ wellbeing. The whole fiasco was attracting more attention than he was comfortable with, but his embarrassment gave way to anger when he remembered how they’d gotten here. 

_ Fucking Bill_. This was all his fault…

Dipper was about to tell him off, but the blood in his veins turned to ice at the horrific sight of the man in the passenger seat. A jagged shard of glass protruded from his eye socket, embedded there as a result of the violent impact that blew out the passenger side window. Clear streams of vitreous fluid mixed with blood flooded down Bill’s face, accompanied by an intense burning sensation where the glass pierced his cornea. Dipper tried to move, tried to lean over to help the blonde in any way he could, but found himself pinned to the seat. A second wave of horror washed over him when he realized the widespread numbness from his waist down undoubtedly meant he’d been paralyzed. 

Time seemed to speed up from that point as a million things happened at once. An ocean of flashing lights and sirens filled the intersection as they were surrounded by police and paramedics for the second time that night, now with the fire department in tow. Some of the officers went about setting up a barrier to redirect traffic away from the intersection until the mess was dealt with.

The first team of firefighters went to work extricating the driver of the pickup truck, whose staggered, unbalanced movements accompanied the pungent smell of booze on her breath. She stumbled like a newborn foal and was quickly handed over to the police and emergency technicians to be checked over. Later on she’d be charged and arrested for driving under the influence. 

The second team began cutting through the metal frame of Dipper’s vehicle and releasing the belted restraints as a means of accessing the trapped pair inside, working quickly since there wasn’t a second to spare. The moment they were freed, the medical technicians swooped in to put their first aid training to use. Understandably, Bill was prioritized over Dipper due to the severity of the trauma he’d experienced. The brunette could do nothing but watch as paramedics maneuvered Bill onto a gurney, their shoes crunching broken glass and small fragments of metal as they wheeled him over to one of the various ambulances present. The chatter of police and EMT radios filled the frigid air as the emergency personnel relayed vital information to the trauma surgeons awaiting their arrival. “Male, late twenties, glass impaled in the right orbit and a traumatic hemopneumothorax. Suspected pelvic fracture and additional internal injuries. ETA six minutes.” 

His sightline of Bill was blocked out when two paramedics knelt down to assess the injuries he’d sustained. They fired off a list of routine questions, carefully evaluating Dipper’s responses to determine the best course of action. He winced when one of them pressed a gloved hand against the swollen flesh of his left arm and pronounced that it was almost certainly broken.

The freezing asphalt leaching through his flannel shirt anchored his physical form in reality while his mind began to drift elsewhere until he was no longer processing what was being asked of him. He suddenly found himself feeling weak, unable to do more than produce sharp, shallow breaths. As the edges of his vision blackened, the flurry of lights and sounds faded into the background until everything ceased to exist entirely. 

* * *

For miles in every direction, there was nothing but a vast expanse of emptiness. No emergency sirens or medical personnel maneuvering him into the back of an ambulance. Not even the thud of his own heartbeat. 

Absolutely _ nothing_. 

Despite being surrounded by endless black, a sense of peace descended upon Dipper. He hung in the soothing dark weightlessly, like dust suspended in a ray of warm sunlight. Bliss settled over him in heavy, comforting sheets and he decided in that moment that he could spend forever here, floating peacefully in perpetual nonexistence.

If this was death, he didn’t _ want _to be alive. 

With no indication or explanation, vivid scenes began to fill the abyss. It took Dipper a second to process what they were showing, until he recognized his beat-up sedan and the street he’d been driving on. Somehow, he was witnessing the accident from all angles at once, insides hollowing as he was made to relive the collision over again. Horror painted his face, glossy eyes taking in the sight of the mangled vehicles and car parts littering the road. Then, the scene shifted and he saw Bill being ushered into the trauma bay where medical staff urgently began tending to his injuries. The most serious, aside from his eye, was a collapsed lung caused by one of his broken ribs punching through the delicate organ. Dipper felt his stomach drop as he watched the doctors insert a chest tube and release the air trapped within Bill’s chest cavity, knowing from the medical documentaries he’d watched that it was a terrible procedure for anyone to be subjected to. The anguished expressions warping Bill’s gorgeous features told Dipper that the initial shock had worn off, and now the blonde was struggling to stay alive amidst the pain overwhelming his broken body.

Without warning, the images died like an unplugged television and Dipper was once again submersed in the infinite darkness, left to wonder what was happening with Bill. 

A smooth voice replaced the display and he realized it was audible only in his mind, echoing throughout his head as it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Within the shadows of the void, Dipper caught a white, amorphous form stalking him as it slid in and out of his periphery. Any feelings of contentment he’d had upon arriving in this place were quickly dispelled by fear as the omniscient being approached. 

The creature that emerged was unexpected but he recognized it immediately, despite never having encountered it himself. Bill had spoken of it in passing throughout the years, but failed to provide a thorough explanation of what it was or the role it played in his prior resurrection. And now, a frightened Dipper Pines found himself part of the rare few who were worthy of taking audience with the fabled Axolotl. 

“What are - how...?” As usual, he found his words failing him, the questions cluttering his headspace as a million of them formed at once. A buzzing laugh permeated the air and prickled every nerve ending in Dipper’s body - those he could still feel, at least - but there was no further response. “Where are we?”

_ “Neither here nor there,” _ the amphibian hummed, looming over Dipper imposingly. Its gargantuan form caused him to cower like an ant beneath a raised shoe, small and fragile before the giant that could easily end him if it desired to do so. The being laughed at this, and Dipper could tell the Axolotl was amused despite its expressionless maw. _ “I have not come to inflict harm. Quite the opposite.” _

He remained unsure as to what was meant by that, but the creature was firmly rooted in his mind and knew his every thought without him having to voice them out loud; something that was both equal parts terrifying and fascinating. 

_ “I will heal you as much as I can,” _it explained, blinking its pitch-colored eyes as it tilted its head, unfaltering sight trained on the bewildered man before him. 

“But... why?” Dipper asked silently, attempting to adjust to the telepathic conversation taking place between them. 

_ “This is Cipher’s punishment, not yours.” _

While he was humbled that the creature deemed him undeserving of such agonizing torment, Dipper couldn’t help but hope, deep in his core, that Bill would be alright. 

He watched with rapt attention as a bright blue aura encompassed him, sinking down past his skin and leaving a tingling sensation zipping through his nerve endings, including the lower half of his body where the full range of sensation had returned. The fear of living out the remainder of his life as a paraplegic dissipated, heaviness lifting from his shoulders as he looked up at the being who’d taken pity on him. “Thank you” felt insufficient, yet it was the only way Dipper knew how to express his gratitude. 

The moment passed and he was met with the sight of himself pressed against the trunk of a mature maple tree, held there by Bill as the blonde peppered kisses against his collarbone. The scene projected like an old film reel all around him and he felt his cheeks flushing seeing himself so desperate and wanting. It felt almost sinful to watch the scene play out, even though it featured himself and Bill doing something they’d done too many times to count. His eyes darted away several times, unable to look for too long. 

_ “Do you recall this?” _

His needy moans and Bill’s adoring praise were... embarrassing to say the least, but yes, he remembered the dream very well. They’d had sex - no, _ made love _\- in a beautiful clearing, on a warm summer day without a care in the world. He recalled the disappointment he’d felt upon awakening to find himself in Mabel’s living room that morning. 

“It was a nice dream,” Dipper admitted freely, a slight shrug lifting his shoulders. 

_ “It was no dream.” _

“It... wasn’t?” Dipper asked dumbly, not knowing what to make of such a statement. This entire encounter felt like something straight out of the Twilight Zone, but he was no stranger to this brand of weirdness - not by a long shot. 

_ “It was a projection of reality,” _ the Axolotl said, “_not as you know it, but as it could be. The peace you felt, the warmth, the _ _ love__... all very real.” _ Well, that certainly explained why he’d felt every stroke and caress so clearly. _ “Bill did not tell you, but he experienced it also. You are one.” _

Dipper could only look at the creature curiously, his confusion visible without having to ask any further questions. 

_ “He has been inside your head and left traces of himself there. Your minds are connected,” _ it clarified. _ “The two of you are bonded.” _

“Like soulmates?” He never believed in the idea - it was bullshit, made up by TV matchmakers and dating shows to garner higher ratings. Mabel seemed to put full faith in it, but Dipper remained skeptical, even as the Axolotl spoke to him. 

Nevertheless, he found himself aching for his other half and everything that could have been. 

_ “What yet could be.” _

No. There was no going back to that. A peaceful life with Bill was fantasy now and nothing more - an idyllic version of a fucked-up reality. The lid on that coffin was nailed shut and he wasn’t about to pry it back open. 

_ “Many things in life are predestined, but not all. It is up to you to determine certain outcomes.” _

A lifetime passed before Dipper spoke again, an ache growing inside of him that he knew was a result of his own emotional uncertainty. “What should I do?”

_ “That is for you to decide. You may stand with Cipher or distance yourself. Either way, the pain will linger.” _

Dipper nodded resolutely, dark lashes angling downwards as the uncertainty of his future - _ their future _\- was placed in his own two hands. Up until now, he was sure he’d known the answer, but after such revelations… his confidence was shaken to say the least. 

_ “Dipper Pines,” _ the Axolotl rumbled, low and resounding in his mind. _ “You have a choice to make.” _

* * *

“Mabel Pines?” 

The panicked brunette jumped up from where she’d been seated in the lobby of the emergency room, immediately greeting the medical assistant who inquired after her. “What’s going on?” She’d received a phone call close to an hour ago, stating that her brother had been rushed to the emergency room following a car accident, but they refused to tell her anything else until she drove down here herself. 

“Please follow me.” A young man wearing scrubs accompanied her through a set of secure metal doors that separated the lobby from the patient assessment area. She trailed closely behind as he guided her into a private space with worn carpeting and chairs with scratchy cushions, heart sinking the moment they passed over the threshold. She knew this room all too well from when their grandmother passed away - this was the place they brought families to break the news of a loved one’s death. 

“No...” she gasped, turning to face the doctor that had led her here with a face drained of blood. The very thought that Dipper might have died sent her into hysterics. “No, he’s not dead... He can’t be dead!”

“Ms. Pines, please take a seat,” he urged, helping her down into one of the vacant chairs before her legs gave out. “Your brother is not dead. However, there’s a possibility he may be paralyzed from the waist down. Unfortunately, we won’t have a definitive answer until the scans come back.”

“When can I see him?” she sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. 

“He’s in surgery right now to have the bones in his arm set, but afterwards we will allow you full contact.”

“What about Bill?”

“I’m afraid I can’t provide you with information on Mr. Cipher since you aren’t listed as one of his emergency contacts. Revealing the status of his condition would violate a number of patient privacy laws,” he explained. “I’ll let you know the moment Mason returns from surgery.” 

Right after the doctor exited the room, she placed a call to their parents, who were less than thrilled to find out it concerned Dipper.

“He deserves this,” Andrew declared without an ounce of sympathy. “They both do.”

“How can you say that?! He’s your son!” 

“_Was_,” Susanna corrected, and it became painfully clear that they were willing to give up their child over his sexuality, a decision that both stunned and devastated Mabel. “We love you, sweetheart,” the gall of her mother to be able to say that when Dipper might be suffering - or _ worse _\- turned her stomach, “but Mason had this coming.” 

“I can’t believe you!” she sobbed, anger manifesting wetly down her cheeks. Without another word, Mabel disconnected the call, thoroughly repulsed by her own parents. She dialed the only other person she could think of in that moment, trembling as the line trilled four times before finally picking up. “Grunkle Stan!” she cried, barely giving him a chance to answer with a gruff _ ‘Hello?’ _before blurting out the news. “Dipper and Bill were in a car accident.” 

“_What? _Are they okay?”

“Dipper might be paralyzed and I have no clue about Bill,” Mabel replied. She caught the breathless _ “shit” _ that was exhaled into the receiver on Stan’s end as he raked a hand through his hair. Despite not being able to witness his reaction, Mabel could sense his distress as it mirrored her own. 

“I’ll catch the next flight to San Francisco.” 

“No, Grunkle Stan, you don’t have to...”

“‘Course I do,” he announced, tone resolute and firm. He immediately made up his mind to fly down anyway, despite her reassurances. If there was one thing he’d come to learn over the past decade, it was that the only thing more important than scamming clueless suckers was family. “Sit tight, pumpkin, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

* * *

The third time Dipper came to, he was no longer trapped in a wrecked car or drifting through a sea of darkness, but reclined in a hospital bed with his twin sitting off to his side, immersed in a news article on her phone pertaining to the crash. “Mabel?” he questioned weakly, shifting carefully into an upright position. 

A tiny gasp fell past her lips and her attention was instantly redirected towards Dipper. She jumped up, abandoning her phone, and threw her arms around him the best she could given the awkward angle. “Oh, Dipper,” she choked, crying for what felt like the hundredth time, “I was so scared when I found out…” 

“I know,” he nodded against her collarbone and relaxed in her warm embrace. Her sobs triggered tears of his own and they clung to each other as they cried, each comforted and relieved to hold the other close as they’d done so often in the past when something upset one of them. 

“They told me your paralysis went away - thank God,” she mumbled, squeezing Dipper tight before pulling back so she could look him over. “They operated on your arm. You had a really awful fracture.” 

“Yeah…” he muttered, gaze shifting to the limb in question, bandaged and secured until it was ready for a proper cast. Thankfully it wasn’t his dominant hand, so he’d still be able to complete the end of term assignments without too much difficulty. 

Mabel wiped her tears and sniffled as she took her seat again. “They wanna keep you for a few days, just for observation.” 

Dipper knew she was concerned enough, so he chose (for now) to omit his discussion with the Axolotl. Instead, he found himself asking about Bill, hope cracking when Mabel’s eyes refused to meet his own. 

“They won’t tell me anything.” 

More tears slid down his cheeks but he didn’t have time to dwell on it any further, because someone he never expected to see came through the doorway that moment and rushed over to trap him in a hug.

“Grunkle Stan…?” he asked incredulously, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. For a second, he wondered if the man was a hallucination brought on by the IV drugs being pumped into his body.

“Your sister called an’ told me what happened. Got here as soon as I could,” he huffed, sounding out of breath like he’d run the whole way from Oregon rather than flying down. “Wendy ‘n Soos wanted to come but I made ‘em stay behind. Told ‘em to hold down the fort.” He pulled up a chair beside Mabel and plunked down into it without an ounce of grace. “Jesus, kid. I dunno how ya got out of this one,” Stan said with the shake of his head after Mabel handed him the article she’d been reading. The photos of the scene were a grim reminder that Dipper might not be sitting here right now if fate hadn’t been in his favor. 

That, and a certain magical amphibian. 

“Mom and dad...?” he questioned, already knowing the answer. 

“Uhm, they... didn’t want to see you,” Mabel said slowly, chewing on the inside of her lip. “Guess they’re still upset.” She intentionally left out their father’s statement about him deserving this, keeping their callousness to herself. He didn’t need to be subjected to their hurtful words on top of it. 

Dipper quietly nodded. It didn’t come as a surprise that their parents were hardly sympathetic towards him; not after the Thanksgiving disaster. 

“Mabel told me everything that happened,” Stan interjected. “How they kicked both of ya out and disowned you. Why d’ya think I never came out?” He questioned, referencing Andrew and Susanna’s intolerance. 

“Bill didn’t exactly help,” Dipper chuckled, then paused, smile fading at the mention of the man’s name. 

“What happened yesterday?” Mabel asked, pressing Dipper for more details as to how and why the accident occurred. 

Ugh. He hated having to tell them what happened, but he owed them an explanation even though saying it out loud left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Bill and I got into an argument... he slept with his boss and now she might be pregnant with his child.”

“Fuck…” Stan exhaled, both he and Mabel looking stunned at the mention of a baby. Dipper guessed it was the exact reaction he had upon finding out, but after everything he’d just been through, he couldn’t remember the lesser details. “Whatd’ya mean, ‘might be?’”

“She has a boyfriend who could also be the father.”

That was enough for Stan, whose expression went from saddened to pissed off in a second flat. “You’ve given him too many chances,” he growled, gesturing angrily at Dipper. “Cut him loose. Tell him to pack his shit and get the fuck out.” 

“Maybe it would be best for you and Bill to take a break,” Mabel added, trying to smooth over their uncle’s bluntness with her own softer approach.

“Sue for pain an’ suffering while you’re at it,” the elder barked in typical Stan fashion. “I’ll help ya. If anyone knows the ins and outs of the legal system, it’s me.” He jerked a thumb towards his chest, looking prouder than he should have at that statement. 

“Thanks, Grunkle Stan, but right now I just want to focus on getting better,” Dipper said, sinking back against the hospital-grade pillows he’d been provided with. There was too much to think about right now and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. 

Stan nodded understandingly, the tassel on his fez swinging from side to side. “I gotta say - losing Ford, I felt like I died too. I tried ta kill myself - more than once,” he admitted to Mabel and Dipper’s horror, “but lookin’ at you two, I knew I had to pull through for ya. I’m glad I was too chickenshit to go through with it.” 

“Grunkle Stan…” Mabel breathed, pulling him into a hug, “I had no idea…”

“That’s ‘cause I hid it. I never had anyone’s support growing up - ‘cept for Ford’s.” He quieted, reflecting back to an earlier time in his life when everything wasn’t so damn screwed up. “But I know I have ta be here now - for my kids.” 

The conversation was cut short when a man appeared in the doorway, knocking against the metal frame to announce his presence. Mabel recognized him from a series of conversations they had over the past 36 hours: Richard Beren, the doctor who had been charged with taking care of her brother’s injuries. “Good morning, Dipper,” he smiled, entering the room and stopping to shake Mabel and Stan’s hands respectively. “I wanted to speak with you about a few things. If you’re uncomfortable discussing this information in front of your visitors—”

“No, it’s fine,” Dipper reassured him, giving the okay for his medical information to be discussed freely. 

“I’m glad to say you’re recovering well and should be able to go home by the end of the week.” 

“What about Bill?” 

Beren drew in a breath, but did not sugarcoat his words. “Bill’s outcome is questionable. However, he _ is _stable at the moment. The fact that neither of you were killed on impact is astonishing. Miraculous, even,” he confessed. “But Bill received the brunt of it, no question. We had to perform an enucleation of his right globe—” 

“In English,” Stan demanded. 

Beren chuckled slightly. “A full removal of his right eye. We attempted to save it, but the damage it sustained was beyond repair.” 

Dipper swallowed harshly at the imagery it evoked, trying his best to banish the gruesome recollection of the impalement from his mind. 

“He also sustained a collapsed lung as a result of broken ribs, which we were able to fix. His appendix ruptured and required removal and his pelvis was essentially shattered. If he survives without contracting infection or other complications, he will need to learn to be self-reliant again.” 

Stan subdued any biting comments about assholes getting what they deserved for his nephew’s sake. And while Dipper certainly couldn’t argue that Bill deserved this, it was out of character for him to wish anyone harm. 

“By all accounts, Mr. Pines,” Doctor Beren spoke, “the two of you shouldn’t be here right now. You must have one heck of a guardian angel looking out for you.”

“I think,” Dipper smiled to himself, “you may be right about that.”

* * *

By the following Tuesday, Dipper was sporting a dark blue cast along his left forearm, held in place with a sling to keep it supported. The realigned bone would need at least six weeks to heal - possibly less given the Axolotl’s influence. Mabel, ever the eager child at heart, insisted on signing it with a metallic-silver sharpie, drawing hearts and stars all around her curly signature. 

As the staff prepared his discharge papers, Dipper somberly recalled the events that led up to this point in time. Before he left, he wanted to drop by Bill’s room and have a chat with him - the first conversation they would have since before the accident. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he told Mabel, who was busy gathering up his belongings and the overpriced “get well soon” balloons she’d purchased from the gift shop. She acknowledged him with a knowing smile, encouraging him to do what he needed to. 

Arriving on the third floor, he approached the main desk of the ICU, mentioning Bill by name. One of the staff directed him to his assigned room, tucked away near the end of the corridor. On his way down the hall, he was intercepted by Nathalie, who’d just exited the blonde’s room and nearly bumped into Dipper in the process. “Hey… can I talk to you for a second?” 

While Dipper wasn’t exactly thrilled to see her, he decided to give Nathalie a chance to say her piece. The redhead shoved both hands deep into the pockets of her winter coat, acknowledging the awkwardness and tension that came as a result of speaking with her lover’s significant other. “I just wanted to let you know that Bill agreed to a paternity test. It’s non-invasive and 99% accurate… we should have an answer by next week.” Bill’s life was either about to become considerably more complicated or he’d get off the hook scot-free. 

“Awesome,” Dipper said dryly, trying not to let resentment get the better of him. Despite his efforts, it was obvious he was having a difficult time, a fact which Nathalie immediately picked up on. 

“Look, Dipper,” she began, “it’s okay if you hate me. I’d understand completely if I were in your situation...” 

“I don’t hate you, Nathalie,” the brunette sighed. Truthfully, he didn’t, though he wasn’t about to become her best friend either. Dipper was polite enough to remain civil, even around someone who’d interfered so drastically in his life. “It wasn’t like you planned this. He should’ve known better.” 

“We both should have,” Nathalie corrected, chewing on her chapped lip as she regarded him. At least she’d been mature enough to own up to her mistakes, unlike Bill who found that the best course of action was to ignore them entirely. “I won’t keep you any longer. I just thought you’d like to know.” She stepped out of the way to let him through, adding, “I’m sorry about everything that happened, Dipper.” 

“I know,” Dipper nodded. He waited until she disappeared into the elevator before turning and facing the door of Bill’s room, hesitating slightly before stepping inside. The blonde looked up, expecting it to be one of the nurses assigned to his care, but doing a double-take when he noticed Dipper lingering in the doorway. “I need to talk to you.” 

Even from here, it was easy to see that, despite the surgical precision involved in removing the glass, there was no saving his right eye, leaving behind an empty socket where the glass was once embedded. The right half of his face was heavily bandaged, rough cloth rasping against the fabric of the pillowcase as Bill turned to view him with his one good eye. 

Somehow, despite it all, Dipper still managed to pity him. He was well aware that the same caustic thought processes had led him to forgive Bill for his initial infidelity and drug use. Dipper’s heart overruled his head nowadays, a fatal flaw that the man lying in front of him had taken advantage of on so many occasions. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Been better,” the blonde croaked, throat hoarse from the prolonged disuse of his vocal cords up until his conversation with Nathalie this morning. “Dipper, I’m sorry...” he broke off into a cough and Dipper handed him the styrofoam cup near his bedside, watching him take several gulps of water.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix this.” He shook his head and waited until Bill finished drinking to continue. “Are you expecting me to say ‘it’s fine’ and act like there isn’t a woman out there who might be carrying your child?” 

Immeasurable moments passed, filled with the steady ticking of an analog clock. Bill said nothing, recoiling from Dipper’s reprimanding tone like a beaten dog with its tail between its legs, too ashamed of himself to say anything in return. 

“If that baby is yours, you better step up and be there for it. No more sweeping your problems under the rug,” Dipper chided, knowing full well that Bill was absorbing every word despite the man’s silence. “You did this, and now you need to deal with the consequences.”

“I know,” Bill replied numbly, looking away from Dipper as he considered the implications of his actions. For the first time in his life, mortal or otherwise, he deeply regretted the choices he had made. Weirdmageddon was one thing, but this somehow felt like it was on a whole new level. He never would’ve blinked an all-seeing eye when the notion of harming Dipper or his family arose that first summer. Actually, the idea of snapping the preteen in half had been downright _ delightful _ at the time. But ever since he’d been damned to this existence, Bill had softened considerably, to the point where his former self would be offended to even associate with such a pathetic idiot. But things were vastly different now, and he’d been shaped into something unrecognizable - something so undeniably _ human_. 

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive what you’ve done to me,” Dipper continued, his opinion of Bill once again soured. The wounds were too new, too fresh, but he insisted on digging his fingers into them anyway, reaching down to the parts that hurt him the most. Ever since his conversation with the Axolotl, Dipper had put a substantial amount of thought into his decision, weighing the pros and cons of a life with Bill. Last night he’d come to a decision; now it was time to change the direction of the future. 

“Bill,” he tried again, adopting a raw, vulnerable tone as he addressed the blonde, trailing his unbroken hand down the man’s cheek just below the single golden eye fixed upon his face. “I love you.” 

The confession came as a surprise to Bill, but greatly relieved him, his expression brightening instantaneously. “I love you too, Dipper,” he sighed, melting against the warm touch. “I’m sorry for being such an asshole, thank you for forgiving—” 

“I love you, but I can’t do this anymore,” Dipper finished, and as quickly as Bill’s hopes had risen, the boy sent them crashing back to earth again like a satellite shot out of orbit. 

“W...what?” The fingers caressing his skin were gone, leaving him cold once again. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Dipper announced, stepping back from Bill’s bedside. 

The all-too cliché ‘knife to the heart’ comparison came to mind, but it was devastatingly accurate in this moment as a kind of pain that no amount of morphine would ever take away sank heavily into his bones. “What am I supposed to do...?” The words ‘without you’ were insinuated but unspoken, as he stared up at Dipper in disbelief. 

“You’re going to pack your things when you get released from the hospital and find somewhere else to live,” the brunette stated matter-of-factly. “You’re going to go on without me.” 

“Don’t do this…” 

“I have to,” Dipper insisted. He knew deep down he was making the right choice. “I won’t keep letting you hurt me.” He backed away from the bed, putting both literal and figurative distance between himself and Bill, regardless of how much it pained him to do so. “Goodbye, Bill.”

Love and loss went hand-in-hand - a lesson Bill Cipher learned the hard way as he watched the only person he ever cared about exit his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go. I might as well tell you now: I have one more story planned for this series :) 
> 
> HOWEVER... updates will be a bit slower than usual over the next few weeks due to the typical chaos of the holiday season. I’m hoping to finish this fic off by the end of the year so I can begin the final one at some point in 2020.


	11. Letting Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few weeks were crazier than expected and I didn’t get to write much during them, but here it is: the final chapter. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday season if you celebrate it :)
> 
> Just a quick note: this one jumps around a lot and switches between Dipper and Bill’s POVs.

It took everything inside of Dipper to crush the voice of self-doubt nagging at him ever since he walked out of the ICU without looking back. He could easily turn around and return to Bill - to take pity on him and offer him a third chance - but that would be detrimental to the both of them. Bill needed to learn how to navigate life on his own, and Dipper needed to move on, regardless of how much everything sucked right now. 

He kept his sight trained on Mabel’s messy bun and the glittery rainbow bobby pins securing it in place while she led him and Stan through the hospital parking lot, the two carrying Dipper’s belongings for him because of the cast lining his arm. 

After a short walk, they arrived at Mabel’s car - a compact thing tucked neatly in one of the designated spaces - and she unlocked it using the remote starter attached to her keychain. Dipper froze in front of the passenger side door, understandably traumatized by what happened the last time he was inside of a vehicle, but the comforting look Mabel gave him was exactly what he needed at the moment. His twin pulled the door open for him and he sank down into the front seat, happy to leave behind the bleak medical setting and return to something more familiar; something more comfortable. 

The start of the ride was quiet - almost stiflingly so - and Dipper began to retreat into his own headspace. An overwhelming sadness crept in, only now beginning to make itself known. Reflecting back on what had just transpired, he couldn’t help but feel the way he’d broken up with Bill was a bit harsh, but in reality, the man had done worse things, like taking advantage of Dipper’s trust in order to keep his dirty secrets buried. 

_ He used you for his own gain and didn’t think twice about it. That isn’t the thing someone who loves you would do. _

It wasn’t until Stan gruffly addressed him from the backseat that Dipper returned to the sobering immediacy of the present. “I’m tellin’ ya, kid - look into gettin’ a lawyer,” his Grunkle insisted adamantly, but regardless of the elder’s urging, Dipper had no interest in getting involved with a lawsuit. Instead of giving a response, he stared down at the hospital bracelet bound to his wrist until the telltale signs of carsickness began to take hold and he was forced to fix his gaze ahead on the midday traffic clogging up the main stretch of road. 

“So Grunkle Stan, when is your flight back to Oregon?” asked Mabel, flicking on the car’s indicator so she could safely execute a left turn and escape the congested thoroughfare. 

“Eh, I dunno. Day after tomorrow,” he shrugged, unbothered by the specifics. Wasn’t like the Mystery Shack was going anywhere. Besides, Wendy and Soos had proven themselves to be capable over the years and he trusted them with almost everything. “I can always stay longer if ya need.” 

Normally, Dipper would’ve been elated at the prospect, but this week he wasn’t exactly up to hosting a “Stan-cation”, something he hoped his sister and great uncle would understand given the circumstances. 

“Son of a _ bitch_,” Stan abruptly cursed, a result of the mylar ‘get well’ balloon smacking him in the face and skewing his glasses at a severe angle. Irritated, he shoved the bobbing annoyance across the cab where it settled along the opposite window like an excited child with their face pressed against the glass. He muttered under his breath - something that definitely wasn’t family-friendly - and promptly straightened out his glasses. 

“I don’t care if you stay here forever,” Mabel admitted joyfully. Amusement coated the surface of her voice at the humorous display visible in the rearview mirror. “Right, Dipper?” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, trying to sound positive for Mabel’s sake, but his lack of enthusiasm was starkly evident to the pair. It felt like he was falling into a pit and not even their uncle’s antics were enough to lift his mood. 

“Buck up, kid. You did the right thing,” Stan encouraged, rubbing Dipper’s shoulder reassuringly (while also keeping an eye on the helium-filled menace the very second it shifted towards him again). “I woulda done the same thing.” If Ford were present, he would have corrected his brother’s atrocious grammar in that nit-picking way he always did, acting like he was better just ‘cause he knew big words and other intellectual shit...

...Stan never imagined he would miss it so much. 

Despite the constant reassurance that walking away from Bill was a positive thing, Dipper wasn’t so sure. He’d already made the decision, yet continued to struggle with his choice; the Axolotl’s mention of a bond between himself and Bill and his own self-doubt weighed down his confidence and left him weary. 

A short while later, Mabel pulled her car up to the curb outside Dipper’s apartment and they helped drag his things in, (Mabel grabbing the balloon the second Stan thrust it towards her), beginning the trek up the stairs to the front door. Dipper didn’t get the opportunity to ask if they wanted to stay for awhile before they were inviting themselves in, plopping down in front of the TV without another word. 

If it were anyone else, it would’ve been seen as a rude gesture, but the two relatives claiming the rights to Dipper’s sofa were some of the only people left in his life that he could still rely on. 

* * *

For a few days afterwards, Bill hung onto the fickle hope that Dipper would change his mind. Whenever he caught a shadow forming on the wall outside his room, his pulse picked up, heart erratically skipping beats and stuttering anxiously until whoever it was passed by and he was left disappointed once again. As much as he talked himself into believing Dipper would reappear in his life, the kid never called, never texted. 

He never came. 

Christmas fell on a Saturday and for the first time in three years, Bill wouldn’t be able to witness the joy painting Dipper’s face, or the way it lit up when he opened one of his carefully planned-out gifts. In all honesty, the blonde could give a shit about the religious aspect of the holidays, celebrating them solely for Dipper’s sake. The magic in the boy’s eyes always made it worth it. 

But with or without Dipper, this was never how Bill expected, nor _ wanted_, to spend the holidays, laid up in the hospital with a missing eye and a shattered pelvis slowly beginning to mend. According to the doctors passing in and out of his room like a revolving door, his recuperation would bleed well into the new year. He was looking at another three months _ minimum _before they felt comfortable releasing him from their care. 

That meant he still had twelve tedious weeks to go, the majority of which would be spent sleeping, interspersed with daytime television and bland hospital fare that barely passed for food. For the most part, the pain medication they administered kept him sedated, which removed some of the maddening repetitiveness of each day. They’d also placed him on something to prevent blood clots from forming while he remained in a reclined position, assisting him whenever he wanted to shower or use the restroom - basic daily tasks he was embarrassed and frustrated over needing help with.

Another complaint to add to the laundry list was the amount of tenderness and bruising all over his chest and torso where the passenger door was harshly indented against his right-hand side. Combined with his broken pelvic bones and ribs, it was difficult to sleep in certain positions he used to enjoy, now forced to keep his back flat against the mattress. However, each day that passed, the sore spots gradually lessened, fading into a sickly yellow hue that clashed with the natural tone of his skin. 

But the worst part of it all (aside from being dumped like yesterday’s garbage) was his forced withdrawal from nicotine. The doctors discouraged smoking as it would negatively impact his healing time, but without the stimulant flowing through his bloodstream, he alternated on an hourly basis between fatigued and irritable - sometimes both at the same time.

Bill’s remaining eye drifted downwards over the plain sheets covering his legs, across the sterile, white walls to the large pane of glass to his left, out of which he had a wide view of the highway and the stream of cars rushing by. Everyone was going about their normal lives while he was left to pick up the pieces of his own. 

Even the view of the overcast December sky was depressing, so he turned away and let himself go numb, eventually falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

After Mabel and Stan left for the airport two days later, Dipper retreated to the solace of his bedroom, where he now spent the majority of his time in the dark, calm silence. Dealing with Bill left him drained in far more ways than he could count; everything that had transpired really took it out of him and he was stuck in a constant loop of replaying the events that led up to this current bout of depression. The start of winter break was spent laying in bed without moving, except for when he needed to use the bathroom. He didn’t have the energy to shower or stand at the stove and cook, hair taking on a greasy sheen and food wrappers crumpled on the floor from where he’d tried - and failed - to toss them into the wastebasket. 

He desperately wished he could just delete this chapter of his life. Something he spent three years pouring incredible amounts of love and faith into had just crumbled at his feet in the worst kind of way. Mabel always said first loves were the hardest but he never imagined it would hurt _ this much_. 

Somehow, the heavy dose of poetic justice dealt against Bill still felt like a loss, seeing as it was delivered in the form of a car wreck, which, at its worst would’ve left Dipper dead, and at best, half-paralyzed. Experiencing something like that moments after discovering their lover’s infidelity was bound to fuck a person up. 

Mabel swung by her brother’s apartment the next afternoon between classes to check up on him. It didn’t take a trained psychologist to tell that Dipper was doing a poor job of concealing his heartache, considering the state of the usually-spotless apartment and his decreased interest in the things he used to enjoy. With Stan en route to Oregon, Mabel focused her full attention on her brother, gathering the essentials and basically moving in with him until further notice. She was determined to help him soldier through the grieving process all while offering Dipper her unconditional support and ensuring he took his anti-depression medication as directed. 

Currently, Dipper could hear her digging around the kitchen like a mole, but he wasn’t sure what she was up to. Honestly, he didn’t care; she could be tearing holes in the drywall for all he knew and it still wouldn’t have mattered. 

The sound of socks dragging on carpet alerted Dipper that Mabel was approaching, but he kept his back turned towards her from underneath the thick duvet. She rounded the bed and he came face-to-face with her when she knelt down beside him holding something in her hands. “Here,” she beckoned, pushing a bright red bowl towards him. A hot pad underneath prevented the microwaved ceramic from searing her fingers. “I made you some chicken soup.”

“I’m not sick.”

“It has star-shaped nooodlllles,” she sing-songed, hoping to entice him with the tiny bits of galactic pasta. It definitely helped cheer her up when she was feeling down. When he didn’t answer, Mabel set the bowl on the nightstand and patted Dipper’s shoulder. “Okie dokie. I’ll leave it here just in case you change your mind.”

He didn’t move for several minutes after she exited, eyes drifting from the soup to the mess of wrappers littering the floor. After a considerable amount of time had passed, he pulled himself into a sitting position and set the bowl in his lap, surmising that it was probably better for him than the packets of empty calories that made up 95% of his diet lately.

When Mabel reentered the room, she was happy to discover he’d fully drained the bowl. “Ooh, I knew that would do the trick,” she chimed, slipping into the role of mother hen like it was her life’s purpose. Taking care of Dipper was something she’d grown accustomed to from a young age, seeing as their parents weren’t always emotionally or physically present in their lives. The twins had always relied on each other when it came to the most fundamental needs, and right now, Dipper could use a positive influence to help get his life back on track. “Now I think it’s time you had a shower.” She helped hoist Dipper up despite his protests, dipping out of the room momentarily to fetch a plastic bag to tie over his cast and ensure no water seeped inside of it. When the task was complete, she dragged Dipper to the bathroom and cranked the knob to its second highest setting. “If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen,” she stated, gathering a fresh set of pajamas and an oversized towel before leaving so he could undress in private. 

The process was slightly more difficult with only one functioning arm, but eventually Dipper managed to strip down and step beneath the hot, soothing spray. Almost instantaneously, he could feel some of the heaviness in his bones subsiding. It had been over a week since he even _ considered _bathing, which was a drastic deviation from his usually well-groomed self. 

While he washed up, Mabel set to work unpacking groceries, most of which consisted of everything her brother loved. Dipper appeared in the kitchen just as she finished tucking away a container of ice cream in the freezer, hair half-wet and stringy against his forehead. 

“Heya, bro. I’m making dinosaur-shaped nuggets for dinner tonight,” Mabel winked. “We can do curly fries too, if you want.” The conversation was meant to keep him distracted - redirect his mind to other things - but she knew it wouldn’t last long. Sooner or later, the topic of Bill would bubble to the surface, and when it did, she made a personal promise to lend an ear while Dipper ranted about what an asshole the guy was and how badly he’d mistreated him. As much as Mabel tried to stay positive, it was clear that the sadness her brother was experiencing couldn’t be remedied with his favorite foods and tv shows. Only time could dull the pain. 

* * *

Five days before Christmas, Mabel yanked the artificial tree out of the hall closet and set the whole thing up on Dipper’s behalf, carefully decorating it with a variety of glass balls and other unique items. She made sure to exclude one framed ornament in particular: a picture of her brother and his ex-boyfriend, leaving it behind in the plastic tote and shoving the whole thing out of sight into the closet she’d initially retrieved it from. While she flitted around like a hummingbird high on nectar, Dipper mentally prepared himself for what would undoubtedly be a miserable holiday season. 

“Hey Dipping Sauce, wanna watch _ Home Alone _with me?” she asked once the flat had been decked out with festive red and gold accents. 

“Not really,” he mumbled, fully aware that he was a looming thundercloud dumping rain on Mabel’s Christmas parade. 

“C’mon, you _ love _that movie.”

“Not in the mood.”

She scooted his legs out of the way to make room so she could sit, leaning back against the microfiber loveseat and drawing lazy circles in the material with her index finger. “Breakups are never easy,” Mabel sighed, looking up at the dark TV screen and their warped reflections. “They’re called that because they break you.” Unfortunately, that wisdom came from previous +experience. She turned fully to Dipper. “It’s gonna suck for a while, trust me. But you’ll be okay and someday it’ll just be another part of your past.” 

Even though Dipper remained silent, each word resonated inside of him and he found himself consoled by her warm presence and the advice she offered. Relationship matters were Mabel’s forte, even if sometimes she resorted to unconventional (yet astoundingly effective) measures, like locking people in their great uncle’s storage closet until they worked through their emotions.

“Now let’s watch the movie,” she suggested, playfully punching his side with a goofy grin on her face. “I’ll make some popcorn!” She didn’t stand up so much as leap off the sofa, and for the first time in ages, Dipper smiled. 

* * *

For Christmas, Mabel bought Dipper a leather-bound book, heavy in weight with crisp, clean pages awaiting ink. She’d put a great amount of effort into getting it as close in appearance as she could to Ford’s vintage journals, though it lacked the character that made its predecessors so iconic. Still, it would be a productive and therapeutic way for Dipper to release his pent-up emotional energy. 

Immediately after opening it, he apologized for not getting her anything, having no energy to put up with greedy people and overpacked stores. But Mabel was more than understanding - she always was when it came to him. 

“It’s okay, Dipper,” she smiled, reaching over the pile of discarded wrapping paper to pull him into a hug. “I’ll always love you, whether you buy me stuff or not.”

* * *

Some immeasurable amount of time later, Bill was placed under an intense physical therapy regimen to help him regain his mobility. The weight bearing process began slowly at first, with the use of crutches to help aid his movements. At first, it felt like he was an ant tasked with lifting a tractor, but as time passed, the burden lessened and his independence grew. He’d also gotten in contact with a lawyer to begin legal proceedings against the drunk driver’s insurance company, assured that a quick settlement would be the most likely outcome given the irrefutable severity of his injuries. 

He had just finished flicking through the TV channel lineup for the third time when he was pulled from his thoughts by his phone’s notification sound. Half of the screen was discolored and cracked from where it had been damaged during the crash, but it was still mostly usable. Bill grabbed the device, expecting it to be a message from his attorney relating to the case, but instead he perked up when he realized it was a text from Nathalie. 

_ Paternity test came back_. 

Without seeing her face, it was difficult to put into context whether that meant good or bad news. He took a deep breath and swiped his thumb across the screen, both eager and apprehensive to read the results. 

* * *

It wasn’t long before Dipper found himself taking up journaling, pages filled not with cryptids and legends, but his raw, unfiltered emotions. It was definitely cathartic - a much better way to spend his time than laying in bed for hours on end. Thanks to Mabel, he was heading into the new year with newfound clarity. During this period of self-reflection, he came to realize how accustomed he’d become to the hurt and dysfunction that came with loving someone so unhinged. 

Yesterday night he’d finally gotten around to purging all the pictures with Bill in them from his phone, and this morning he was in a much better headspace as he went from room to room, tucking items into cardboard boxes. The lease on this unit would be ending in a few days, and without Bill’s help, there was no way he would be able to afford the rent. Mabel generously offered to stay with him on a permanent basis, but he knew she needed her independence - they both did. He wasn’t about to force her to live with him for the rest of her life. Instead, he researched smaller apartments further away from the UC Berkeley campus, settling on one that was more outdated but within a manageable price range.

He also took the liberty of packing Bill’s things for him, emptying his dresser and desk drawers. In one of them was an unopened carton of cigarettes, which Dipper promptly cast into the garbage can despite having a brief urge to hold onto. The new year would be dedicated to shedding his unhealthy habits and regaining control of his life. 

There was just the nightstand to take care of before the room was cleared out aside from the larger furniture pieces. He tugged open the drawer but stilled when he noticed the photo strip tucked towards the back. It was the one taken at Soos and Melody’s wedding nearly four years ago. Hesitantly, he reached for it and came face-to-face with younger, happier versions of himself and Bill, blissfully unaware of what awaited them in the future. 

Even though it pained him to look at, Dipper studied the photographs closely and allowed himself to acknowledge the inevitability of this. In many ways, their relationship was like a plucked rose - beautiful, but destined to die. The petals wilted long ago and now only the thorns were left as a sharp reminder of the hell Bill put him through. 

He vowed never to let anyone hurt him like that again. 

The photo strip was turned face-down as Dipper set it in the box of miscellaneous items and sealed the flaps shut with packing tape. One final check of the space confirmed he hadn’t missed anything, so he turned off the light and set the box in the living room with all of the others. 

Mabel was loitering near the sofa, sporting a frown as she looked over the piles they’d be tugging down the front stairs to a rented U-Haul truck parked across the street. “Look, I love you, Dip, but moving twice in two months?” That was crazy even by _ her _ standards. “We didn’t even take anything out of here and I’m _ already _exhausted.”

“Believe me, I’m not thrilled about it either,” he admitted bluntly. The prospect of having to do this again left him equally frustrated, but there was no way in hell Mr. and Mrs. Pines were going to lend a hand. As usual, they would be on their own. 

After a moment, Mabel finally asked the question that had been building up inside of her all morning: “What’re you gonna do with Bill’s stuff?”

“Take it along, I guess? He can pick up his shit when he gets out of the hospital.” There was no telling when that might be, but he’d hold onto them for a while. Despite the bad blood between them, at least Dipper had the decency to move Bill’s possessions into the new apartment instead of providing them with a home in the nearest dumpster.

“Welp, let’s get started then,” Mabel sighed, clapping her hands together, but she made no move to actually get started. 

Today was going to drag on _ forever_.

* * *

For Bill, the past few months were a much-needed wake-up call. By now, March was fading into April and he’d finally gotten strong enough to walk without too much pain. Mostly. The solid black cane at his side was something he needed to rely on frequently and his altered depth perception still fucked him up sometimes. Having only one working eye would take time to get used to again, but the false globe tucked snugly into his orbit was a major improvement over the mass of bandages wrapped around the right side of his head. Overall, he felt better, but there was still a great deal of healing left to do.

He wasn’t about to waste the fresh start he’d been given, which was how he found himself at the Oakland International Airport, preparing to board an 11am flight to the east coast. The easy option would’ve been to lay around, wallowing in self-pity and blaming external factors for the sorry state of his life, and for a while, he did until enough was enough. Personal responsibility was a brand new concept that Bill was intrepidly exploring, no longer burying his discomfort with drugs and alcohol and women. His actions had come at a heavy price, and now more than ever, it was time to leave the past and all of the mistakes he’d made behind. 

Glancing down at the ticket in his hand, he committed the gate number to memory, traversing the long stretch of hallway with one meager carry-on bag slung across his shoulder. At least the universe had finally begun to show him some mercy; the legal action he’d taken paid off quite literally, and a deal had been reached without having to drag the matter out for years on end. Given the six figures now lining his bank account, at least some good had come out of his suffering. A portion of the money would be put towards an in-patient rehab facility near Miami - AKA his new home for the next six months. 

Additionally, the result of the paternity test was exactly what he’d been hoping for. He took full comfort in knowing he wasn’t the father of Nathalie’s baby, who was now two-thirds of the way through her pregnancy. She’d been kind enough to hold his job for him until he could return to work, but he insisted she hire someone else, uncomfortable with the idea of calling her his boss anymore. In spite of everything, their relationship remained amicable, which was more than he could say about his ex. 

Maybe someday life would throw him and Dipper back together again as it had a peculiar way of doing, whether on the golden coasts of California or wandering the forests of the Pacific Northwest. But for now, he needed to channel his energy into his own self-improvement and learn to stand on his own. 

_ “Gate 12: now boarding,” _a smooth, feminine voice announced over the intercom system, calling his attention back to the present. He slid his ticket to one of the attendants for verification before melting into the group of travelers that would be joining him on this morning’s flight. Towards the back of the plane, he found his spot, tucking himself into an aisle seat and settling in for the next few hours before the first layover occurred.

He silenced his phone, ignoring what had to be the tenth text in three months from Dipper, asking when he could swing by to pick up his belongings. Instead of offering a response, Bill blocked the boy’s number entirely, severing contact with the brunette for the foreseeable future. He didn’t need any painful reminders of the things he was leaving behind in California. 

And while it felt like this chapter was coming to a close, Bill smiled to himself because he knew his life was only just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll get working on the third and final story of this series sometime in February and will let you know here in these notes when it’s posted. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has continued to read, comment on, and support my dramatic-ass stories. It's so very appreciated. Love you all so much xxx


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